


we could be giants

by wincechesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Endgame Sheith, First Time, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 08, Sexual Tension, no infidelity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2019-11-02 03:01:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17879852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: The former Paladins of Voltron have gone on with their lives as best they could since Allura's sacrifice. The war for the fate of all realities may be over, but it left them all shattered and shaken, trying to find peace where there was none to be found.Five years later, they reunite to heal old wounds and to go back for the one they left behind.





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> PLEASE NOTE!!!! i hated s8 more than i have hated almost anything else in my entire life. that being said, this fic is s8 compliant. it acknowledges everything that happened in s8 *including the epilogue*, because i needed to do that in order to fix it for myself so that i could reconcile it and go on loving vld. if you prefer to ignore s8 then this fic will not be for you, however: curtis is mentioned but does not appear. there is no infidelity. it is endgame sheith. and allura will live. 
> 
> the draft of this fic is totally written, and i am editing as i go and aim to post a chapter every thursday until complete!
> 
> thanks as always to Meg for beta and for cheerleading, and to Kim for writing alongside me, for mutual salt, and for keeping me going <3
> 
> ETA: title is from "Giants" by Lights.

Keith comes awake like he always does―suddenly, and from half-remembered dreams. The bed beneath his back is hard, a threadbare blanket draped over a thin mattress stuffed with some kind of dried local plant, but he doesn’t need much. He’s always run hot, he supposes by virtue of his Galra blood; and then there’s the wolf, sprawled inelegantly at his side and putting off as much heat as a small sun. Keith rakes a hand through his hair, dragging fingertips through the sweat-damp strands before he sighs and pushes himself upright.

“Hey buddy,” he croaks, patting the wolf on the head when he looks up blearily from the bed. The wolf leans into the touch, yawning cavernously. “Time to go.”

Keith dresses in silence, sleepily pulling on layer after layer of his Marmora suit, winding the outer tunic around his torso. It had taken him what felt like ages to get the layers and ties straight, after having inherited the mantle from Kolivan. Now his hands move with muscle memory, folding the reinforced fabric around himself with the ease of habit. He braids his hair out of necessity; a few unruly strands will inevitably escape to flutter around his face, but at least most of it will be kept at bay. He thinks for the hundredth time that he should cut it, and he tugs ruefully at the end before he winds it around his shoulders, pushing aside the thought for another day.

This place that serves as their base is so different from the one that he and the Paladins had first found the Blades inhabiting, the tiny base suspended between a star and two black holes constantly devouring and being devoured. Eventually they’d settled here on Ocrun, a series of warehouses and communications towers surrounded by empty space, in plain sight for all to see. They aren’t a militant organization anymore, nor a part of a rebel coalition; aside from the occasional civil uprising to be managed, there isn’t even any fighting to be done. There’s no need to hide. There are still moments when that realization feels strange, even after all this time, but he’s grateful for the chance to sleep in a bed he can call his, even if it never truly feels that way.

The wolf pads after him down the long hall, his paws nearly silent on the beaten earth. The bustling sounds of busy work stretch towards him the closer he gets to the light, to the outside where he knows supplies are being inventoried and portioned out for relief missions he’d approved just yesterday.

He nods at Drox where he’s marking cases of supplies on his tablet, shielding his eyes against the blinding bluish light of the planet’s two distant suns. This place reminds Keith a little of when he lived alone in the desert: the dry heat and the dust and the open spaces, coupled inexplicably with the tight, itchy feeling of confinement, of being grounded. It’s been at least a phoeb since he’d been off-planet himself and he feels the pull almost like the stars themselves are calling to him.

“What do you think?” he asks the wolf as they make their way down the rows of stacked crates of food goo. “Is it time to hit the road again?”

The wolf huffs, his tail swishing a happy affirmative, and Keith chuckles, brushing gloved fingers through the long coat behind the wolf’s ear. He’s huge now, his head well above Keith’s as he trots along at his side.

“Keith!”

Keith turns to find Acxa extricating herself from between two towers of crates. One corner of his mouth turns up wryly as she falls into step beside him. “Do you ever sleep?” he asks. “How long have you been out here?”

Out of the corner of his eye she sees her turn her dark eyes skyward—a gesture he’s long ago learned to interpret as her version of an eyeroll. She ignores his teasing, falling into step beside him. “The re-supply of food goo from Senfama is on its way. We should have it in three quintants. And we’ve had a message from Feyiv. They want you to make an appearance at the Kral Zera this deca-phoeb.”

He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. “You’d think after we abolished the Empire we could get rid of the whole thing. But no, we had to go and turn it into a festival.”

“Traditions are important to some people,” she says with a shrug of her slender shoulders, and the way she says it makes it clear that she isn’t one of them.

He hesitates for a moment, his eyes tracking upwards to skim over the prow of one of their supply ships, standing ready to be loaded. “Maybe I’ll go. It’d be good to get off-planet for a while.” Not for the festival, or for the throngs of Galra he’ll have to speak to. But for the stars, for the controls of a ship under his hands, the hum of an engine surrounding him—maybe for that.

She looks at him sharply. “You don’t need an excuse to go off-planet, Keith. Take a vacation. You do enough around here. We’ll survive without you for a while.”

He shrugs noncommittally. It’s a familiar grievance, though it’s been at least a phoeb since she last brought it up. “There’s too much work to do. I just want to get off Ocrun for a while; I can do some work while I’m up there.”

The wolf huffs a bark and Keith stops, dragging himself from his thoughts to find Acxa frozen several steps back, her eyes wide as she stares at nothing. He feels the hair on the nape of his neck stand up. “What is it?”

One clawed finger is pressed to her earpiece, listening, and she’s gone still and tense like a cat poised for fight or flight. Her free hand is already on the gun in the holster at her hip. It’s been a long time since Keith was a Paladin, or a Blade for that matter, but his own hand finds the hilt of his Marmora knife at the small of his back with unerring precision. At his side, the wolf lets out a low, concerned whine.

“Acxa, what’s going on?”

“There’s a ship approaching,” Acxa says, her words clipped. “Just entered the atmosphere. Not one of ours.”

“Friendly?”

“We don’t know.”

He’s at her side in an instant, the two of them turning in unison to make their way towards the port. “Have we tried hailing them?” Acxa moves fast, with long strides, but Keith keeps pace with her easily. He’s taller than she is now, though still dwarfed by his mother, last he saw her.

She nods, a sharp jerk of her angular face, a strand of blue hair falling from behind her ear. “No response.”

“Tell them to have defences at the ready, but to hold their fire.” He stresses that last; the Galra have been at peace for more than five years now, but five years is a drop of water in the sea made up of thousands of years of war. “They’re to keep trying to raise them, and we’re not going to fire the first shot, got it? Tell them—”

He freezes. At his side, he hears Acxa stumble—she never stumbles.

Above them, making its slow descent through Marmora airspace is a familiar vessel, shaped like the wedge-head of a spear, dull greyish white with splashes of orange across its hull. Keith sees it, and his entire chest seizes, his breath catching in his throat.

“Is that…”

She doesn’t have to finish her sentence; Keith nods. He’d know that vessel anywhere, even though it’s been years since he’s seen it with his own eyes. “It’s the Atlas.”

_Shiro._

“Tell them to stand down,” he says, and his own voice comes to him from far away, through the catch in his throat where his breath has lodged itself, painful and tight. He hears Acxa relay the order into her headpiece, feels the wolf at his side lean into him with his gaze fixed on the same ship.

“Guess you’re taking that vacation after all,” Acxa says knowingly, her mouth turning up in a soft smile. Keith doesn’t hear her, his gaze fixed on the ship above them.

“What is he doing here?” he mumbles under his breath, and the wolf whines quizzically as if in response. He hadn’t received a message, no communication to warn him to expect a visit. They’d just spoken last five quintants ago—or was it ten?— and yet here it is on his doorstep—

He waits, fighting the pounding of his chest beneath his ribcage, staring up at the IGF-Atlas as it sets down, the blast of its thrusters blowing back the loose strands of his hair. The strands sting at his eyes. There’s the groan and hiss of the landing gear, the judder of the ground below his feet, and only minutes later, the hatch is opening.

It’s not Shiro who is first off the ship but Pidge. She hurls herself with a cry out of the still-opening door and into Keith’s arms and he can’t help but laugh as he wraps his arms around her in return.

He feels his smile curling his mouth before he means to put it there. She’s still small, wiry and tiny with her hair short and the same round glasses he’s always known her to have, but some of the softness is gone from her jaw, the roundness from her cheeks. She looks even more like Matt than when last he saw her.

“Keith,” she says, into his shoulder, and that’s definitely the sound of tears choking her voice. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too, Pidge.”

“Whose fault is that?” she mumbles into his shoulder and pulls back enough that he lets her drop her feet to the ground. She looks at him through fogged and smudged glasses, whipping them off to polish them, the motion almost disguising the furtive way she swipes the tears from her eyes. “Wow. You grew again.”

Keith shrugs. “Guess my Galra side caught up to me.”

“Finally!”

Keith’s eyes are already rolling as he accepts the hug Lance bestows on him against his will, or so he’ll claim. “Lance.”

“Buddy.” Lance pulls up to glare at him, long, knobby fingers digging into the stiff fabric over Keith’s shoulders. It’s still jarring to see the crescent shaped Altean marks set high on his cheekbones as he glowers up at Keith. “It’s truly obnoxious that you keep getting bigger and more handsome every time we see you. Eventually it’s gotta stop, right?” He turns to Hunk who’s appeared at Keith’s side and picks him up in a bone-crushing hug.

“Hey Hunk,” Keith wheezes.

“Hey Keith! Ooh, you do feel bigger. You don’t look very purple yet though. Unless maybe under the—”

“Still not purple, Hunk!”

He shakes hands with Coran and his friends let him go, turning to say hi to Acxa and the wolf, and it’s then that Keith finally sees Shiro, making his way alone down the gangway to where the rest of the former Paladins are congregated. He looks shy, a small, tentative smile on his face and Keith doesn’t like to see it there, instinct and habit wanting to wash away anything that makes Shiro uncomfortable, even if that’s not his place anymore.

“Keith,” Shiro says, and Keith had almost forgotten how such cool grey eyes could be so warm.

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith says, and he hates the longing he can hear in his own voice, how soft that name is on his tongue, even after all these years. He extends a hand and Shiro pauses a moment before he takes it with his Altean one, and then he’s being pulled in, sure and tight and unerringly, against a broad chest. He feels Shiro’s other arm wrap around his back, warm and solid, and Keith can’t fight the way his body remembers this, how he curves into Shiro’s body, his face automatically fitting into the curve where Shiro’s neck meets his shoulder and his eyes shuttering closed.

“You did get big,” Shiro says, his voice a low rumble that Keith can feel against his own chest as much as he can hear it.

Keith lets himself linger for just a moment, just one breath, before he pulls back to meet Shiro’s eyes. He might be bigger than he was, but he still has to tilt his chin up to meet Shiro’s eyes. “And you got old.”

“Punk,” Shiro chuckles, and shoves playfully at Keith’s shoulder. When he pulls back his smile is more open, more like the Shiro Keith knows. He looks different—older, yes, with his hair swept back away from his forehead and the glasses perched on his nose, but that isn’t new, not since the last time he’d visited earth or seen Shiro on a viewscreen.

He doesn’t realize he’s staring, their hands still clasped between them, until Lance clears his throat pointedly at Keith’s side. Keith coughs, jerking his hand back from Shiro’s grasp as if burned.

“You look good,” he says, gruffly, and he can’t parse why Shiro flushes in response.

“So do you.”

Lance interrupts them with by clapping a hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith startles, turning to glare at him.

“Hate to break up this heartwarming reunion or whatever, but we’ve got things to discuss. You got a conference room or something here, Keith?”

*****

Ocrun is a dry, desert planet, and their operation is one of storage and supply, of duty and need. Their food stores are plentiful, but no one would dare call them satisfying. The meal that Hunk prepares them, somehow managing to turn their spartan stores and the few spices he’d brought with them on the Atlas into a gourmet spread, is the best that Keith has had in deca-phoebs.

Afterwards, they end up on the Atlas, and Keith feels a strange combination of both familiar and out of place, seated to Shiro’s right with the rest of the Paladins and Coran spread out around the table. He wants to ask why Curtis hasn't come with Shiro, but as he looks around the table at his friends, he can't bring himself to do it. It’s so reminiscent of all the times they had sat together before, on the Castle of Lions, at the Garrison, at this very table the last time they had to save the Universe. They’re all here, the Defenders of the Universe together once more—all, but for one glaring absence. 

The chair to Lance’s left where Allura should sit is empty and no one tries to fill it.

“I can’t believe you don’t have a better headquarters here, man. Aren’t you like, the big boss of the Marmorites now?”

Keith crosses his arms over his chest and scowls, fighting the old irritation that always follows on Lance’s heels like an overzealous puppy. “The Blade of Marmora is a humanitarian organization now, Lance. It’s not like I’m some diplomatic official or something.”

Lance cocks one eyebrow. “Yeah, and whose fault was that, Mr. _I don’t want the job even though everyone looks up to me and I’m a literal hero and I would be perfect for it_?”

“Can you imagine Keith as the president of the Galra Empire though?” Hunk laughs. He pauses, his face scrunching up in thought. “Wait. If it’s a democracy, it’s not an empire anymore, right? What do you call an empire that doesn’t have an emperor?”

“That would be a democratic republic.” Pidge adjusts her glasses. “The Democratic Republic of Galra?”

“But Galra isn’t a place, it’s a people, isn’t it?”

Keith rolls his eyes again, but he feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. He glances to his left and finds Shiro already watching him.

“Some things never change, huh?” Shiro’s voice is low, his eyes soft.

Keith nods. They smile at each other for a moment, until something tightens in Keith’s chest and the smile drops away. He looks down at his hands, unclenching his fists with a concerted effort, making as though to brush away imaginary dust from the smooth surface in front of him. “Yeah. I guess some things don’t.”

Keith clears his throat, interrupting the rest of the Paladins where they’re still bickering. “So, what brings you guys all the way out here?”

Lance clasps a hand to his chest, a theatrical gasp bursting from his lips. “What, you mean we can’t come see our best buddy just because we feel like it? There has to be a _reason_?”

Pidge rolls her eyes. “There _is_ a reason, Lance.”

“What Lance is trying to say,” Shiro interjects, “is that we did want to see you, _and_ we have a reason for being here. We really miss you back home.”

Keith swallows. “Me too,” he says and his voice comes out softer than he means it to. “I’m sorry I haven’t been to visit for a while.” He drags his gaze away from Shiro, taking in the rest of the Paladins and Coran. He coughs. “So what’s the deal?” 

One by one, his friends all turn to look at Lance.

“Okay, guess it’s my turn to take the stand.” He turns to meet Keith’s eyes across the table, his fingers flexing against the polished glass. There’s grief there that’s hard to look at and Keith hates seeing it on his friend’s face.

“A couple months ago, I started having these… dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?” Keith asks.

“Dreams about… about Allura.” Lance pauses, seeming to gather himself. He laughs, and the sound is aching, mirthless and hollow. “I mean, I dream about her all the time, but this was different you know? Like I was watching a video someone had taken of her and was showing it to me.”

Keith’s gaze wants to go to Shiro. He knows the feeling, remembers watching his memories and Krolia’s flash before his eyes in the Quantum Abyss, seeing Shiro in the Black Lion’s consciousness. “What happened in the dreams?”

“It’s always the same. She’s stuck in this…place. It’s hard to describe.” He rakes a hand through the short strands of his hair, heedless for once of the way it sticks up in the path of his hand. “It’s kind of like that time Shiro—the real Shiro, not the clone Shiro—tried to speak to me when we were on the Astral Plane. It’s like she’s calling for me, for us, trying to let us know that she’s still out there. At first I thought I just missed her, you know? Because I do. So much it hurts every single day.” 

Lance glances sideways to where Shiro is watching him. “And then Shiro started dreaming the same dreams, too.”

Keith’s brow furrows. “Shiro?”

Shiro holds up his right arm, twisting it slowly as though examining it. There’s a slight hum when he moves, somehow more like a feeling than a sound. His left arm rests hidden away beneath the table against his thigh. “I think we’re still connected somehow—maybe from her crystal that she used to power my arm, or from when she transferred my consciousness from the Black Lion into the clone body.” He looks up, meeting Keith’s gaze and lowering his Altean hand back to the surface of the table. “But it doesn’t feel like a dream. It feels like she’s really out there, waiting for us to come find her.”

“Coran’s the only one of us who has any idea how Altean Alchemy works,” Pidge pipes up. “And even he only knows what he learned from Alfor. There’s no one still around who knows enough about it to explain it all to us. But we’ve been searching for whatever it is they’ve been seeing. I don’t really know what I’m looking for—” she adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose “—but I’m going to find it.”

“I’ve always wondered why I couldn’t move on,” Lance says suddenly, his voice urgent. He turns his head, his gaze falling on the empty chair beside him. “ Why none of us could move on. Sure, she was the love of my life, but that's not it. Or not all of it.” He looks up and his eyes are hard and Keith recognizes the expression from the one he’s seen in the mirror after too many nights waking in a cold sweat, guilt and sadness and loss and regret written in every line of his face. “It's because we should have fucking saved her, like she saved all of us.”

“It's the reason we all went our separate ways after the war,” Shiro says, his own voice soft, “after everything. Because we couldn't face the guilt of knowing we left her out there.” 

Keith swallows, his hands curling into fists where they rest on the table in front of him. His gloves creak under the strain, the leather going tight against his palm. He remembers the feeling of knowing they let her go with barely a fight because they thought it was the only way and wondering how he could look any of his fellow Paladins in the face after. He nods, once. “You're right. So what do we do?”

He looks to Shiro—like he always does, a reflex, even after all this time—but it’s Lance that answers. 

“We're going to do it,” he says, and he sets his jaw, the flint of his eyes blazing into something determined and fierce. “We're going to save Allura.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author is a dramatic asshole ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> thank you so much for reading. <3 I'm on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino). hope to see you next week!


	2. Chasing Ghosts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY SHIRO I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

Keith spends the next several quintants making preparations for his departure. There are supply runs to approve and outposts to contact, and he has to debrief Acxa, who will be in charge of the Blades in his absence. His friends help, and he’s grateful when he sees Hunk and Coran patching up the engine on one of their downed ships, Pidge coding fixes to a system that hasn’t seen an upgrade in at least three deca-phoebs. Shiro falls easily into helping wherever he’s needed, loading crates of food goo onto cargo ships, playing with the wolf when he gets bored during Keith’s meetings, and lending his expertise and advice to the meetings themselves. It makes something warm swell up inside Keith’s chest, to have them all working alongside him for the first time in deca-phoebs.

Keith has to hide his laughter when he sees that Lance has attached himself to Acxa, and the expression of mixed disdain and exasperation on her face as Lance rambles on looks a little too familiar. Keith takes pity on her enough that he considers interrupting them, until he hears Acxa ask hesitantly about Lance’s sister Veronica, sees the sly smile that Lance casts in her direction as though he’d been waiting for her to ask.

Keith grins and leaves them to it.

By the time they’re ready to depart, Keith feels like he’s coming out of his skin with the need to take to the skies. The itch has blossomed into need, now, and his heart thrums along with the hum of the Atlas as he bids goodbye to Acxa and his friends file onto the ship.

The wolf bounds up the gangway after Pidge, his tail swishing behind him as he turns to look back at Keith. His tongue lolls out of his mouth, and he looks every inch the excited puppy he hasn’t been for ages. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” he calls with a chuckle. He turns back to Acxa, who gives him a solemn Galra salute, pressing a curled fist to the left side of her chest. Only the arch of one slender eyebrow gives away the teasing on her face.

“Don’t hurry back,” she says flatly.

He rolls his eyes, turning to follow his friends aboard the Atlas.

On the bridge he finds Shiro standing at the ready, every inch the Captain in the set of his shoulders, though he spares a warm smile for Keith. “All squared away?” Keith nods and Shiro reaches out a hand to knock a companionable fist against Keith’s arm. “Get settled, then. We’re ready to take off.”

“Yes, sir,” Keith teases back automatically, and he’s rewarded when Shiro’s eye roll is betrayed by the grin on his lips. 

“Alright, Coran,” Shiro calls. “Take us up.” 

Keith stands with the former Paladins at the viewscreen, watching Ocrun fall away beneath them, relishing the familiar rush as they leave the atmosphere and are swallowed up by the vast, glittering blackness of space. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, adrenaline rushing under his skin as they take off, and he draws in what feels like his first full breath since he last stepped off his ship onto Ocrun’s dry and dusty surface.

He stands at the window long after Lance has disappeared to catch up on his beauty sleep, after Pidge and Hunk and Coran have wandered off to engineering still discussing methods to broaden their search. His heart is full and warm. 

He doesn’t realize he’s not alone until Shiro’s hand falls on his shoulder. “It never gets old, does it?” Shiro asks, gifting him a soft smile.

Keith shakes his head. “Never. I don’t know how you did it, honestly. I get stir crazy being stuck on the ground for longer than a phoeb.”

Shiro’s smile drops away by degrees, leaving him looking sad. “I didn’t really,” he says cryptically, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Did you miss it?” Keith asks, slowly.

Shiro nods. “Every day.”

Keith’s brow furrows. He wants to ask, then why did you quit? Why did you decide to stay on earth? He studies the new lines between Shiro’s heavy brows, like he’s used to furrowing them, to carrying tension there, and wonders. He’d thought Shiro had chosen to stay on earth because it was what he wanted, and he’d never questioned him because Shiro deserved to have everything he wanted, whether that something was rest, or recovery, or a--a marriage. 

When Shiro catches Keith staring, he pastes his smile back on, though it looks flimsy and paper-thin. He squeezes the muscle of Keith’s shoulder once, then draws away, his fingers trailing away slowly to fall at his side where his hand curls into a tight fist. 

“I’m going to turn in,” he says, softly. “Don’t stay up all night.”

Keith feels the corner of his mouth quirk up in a grin, and he sways to bump his shoulder against Shiro’s. “Okay, Old Man.” 

Shiro groans. “Seriously, I’m not _that_ old.”

“No,” Keith agrees, chuckling. “But you do it to yourself when you say things like that.”

“Fine, fine.” He hesitates, then smiles softly, and this time it’s genuine. “Goodnight, Keith.”

“Goodnight, Shiro.”

*****

It takes Keith longer than he would like to admit to adjust to being back on the Atlas.

He finds himself falling back into old habits from back when they first became the Paladins of Voltron, when it was strange to find himself in the company of six other individuals, five of whom he didn’t know or trust yet. This is like that—returning to a place he thought he’d never see again, flitting like a ghost through Atlas’ halls, spending hours on the training deck or staring blankly out at space, feeling simultaneously freer than he has in forever, and somehow caged. Trapped.

He had tried to leave Krolia out of this mission along with Acxa, but she had refused with a stubbornness that must be hereditary. Now, she glowers down at him from the Atlas’ viewscreen as they rehash the same argument. “I’ll meet you in the Eridani system. This isn’t a negotiation, Keith. I’m coming.” 

He wants to pretend to be disgruntled, but he’s not too old or too proud to admit he needs his mom, misses her whenever she’s away on mission, so he lets it go. “Fine.” 

She nods sharply. “What exactly is the plan, again?”

The plan, as he understands it, is complicated, and more than a little based in chance. Pidge has been working on enhancing Atlas’ systems with the help of both Hunk and Coran and they’re searching as far as their scanners can reach. It doesn’t help that none of them really know what they’re looking for, but whatever it is, everyone is determined to keep looking until they find it. Allura is waiting for them and they’ll do whatever they have to to get her back.

Now, Keith just shrugs. “It’s a little above my paygrade. I’ll have Pidge send you the mission report.”

“Affirmative,” Krolia says, and her mouth softens in that way Keith knows is a smile, has seen it on himself in the mirror, sometimes. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Mom.”

He shuts off the viewscreen, sighing. Everyone else is in their quarters, no doubt asleep, but that strange form of space jet-lag that comes from leaving the rotation of a planet for the empty blackness up above has his internal clock scrambled. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he haunts the empty ship, the wolf following faithfully at his heels. It’ll be entire quintants before they reach the rendezvous point, and who knows how long after that until Pidge locates whatever it is they’re searching for.

He finds himself at what passes for a training deck on the Atlas, the doors hissing open when he presses his hand to the panel beside it. The wolf pads into the room behind him, sniffing at a punching bag that dangles from the ceiling. Keith trails his hands over the equipment set up around the room; it looks more like a Garrison gym than the training deck on the Castle of Lions, and he wishes fiercely for a Gladiator to fight hand to hand, bots to defend against—anything that would take him out of his head and into his body instead. His Marmora blade is strapped to the small of his back as always, but there’s nothing in this room that wouldn’t be sliced apart by the deadly luxite.

He scrounges up some tape and wraps his hands instead, the wolf settling down on the rubber mat beneath a squat rack and crossing his paws in front of him. He cocks his head and watches quizzically as Keith stretches, then starts hammering away at the nearest punching bag, lashing out with feet and shins, fists and elbows, weaving towards and away from the circling cylinder of the bag. It’s been a long time since he practiced with a bag like this—not since he first joined the Garrison, not since he started sparring with Shiro instead, and it’s not half as satisfying as moving in tandem with another person, trying to anticipate and dodge and retaliate, but it’s something, and he does his best to lose himself in it.

It works so well that he almost misses the way the wolf’s ears perk up, his head turning towards the door of the training deck. It’s not until the wolf stands with the eerie fluid grace that comes with being only half of this earthly realm and the other half cosmic whatever, that Keith takes it as anything notable. Keith’s instantly on alert, his hand going to the handle of the blade at his back before he remembers—the Atlas. He’s on the Atlas, and there’s no one on this ship that isn’t family.

He makes his fingers loosen on the grip of the blade just as the doors slide open to admit Shiro. The wolf bounds to the door, tail wagging, and Shiro laughs as he reaches out to pat him on the head.

“Hey Keith. I thought I might find you here.” He grins, running the fingers of his prosthetic hand through the wolf’s ruff, and Keith is shocked to see that Shiro needs to look up to see the wolf’s face. “Looks like you’re not the only one who grew, huh?”

Keith snorts. “Were you looking for me?”

Shiro nods. “Went to your room but you didn’t answer, and I know how light you sleep. Some things really always stay the same, don’t they?”

“Guess so.” Keith drags a wrapped hand through his sweaty hair, scraping the loose strands away from his face. “Did you need something?”

“No. Just thought maybe we could—talk or something.” Shiro smiles crookedly. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Keith huffs a laugh, fixing his gaze on the wolf. Shiro’s hand is combing methodically through the wolf’s coat, and Keith wonders absently how it would feel, Shiro’s smooth, mechanical fingers brushing soft lines through the thick hair. “Me neither. Is it the dreams again?”

Shiro nods wearily. “I have them almost every night, now. At first it was once a month, then once every couple of weeks… you get the idea. It’s almost like she’s calling out to us.” At his side his Altean hand curls into a fist. “How can I possibly sleep when Allura’s out there, waiting for us to find her?”

“We’ll find her, Shiro,” Keith says.

Shiro smiles at him. “I don’t know what does it, but no matter what it is, I always believe it when you say it.” 

Keith heart leaps into his throat and he feels himself flush. He swallows and looks away. “What...what are they like, anyway? The dreams, I mean.”

Shiro’s brow furrows and he crosses the room to slump down onto a bench beside a row of free weights. Keith sits down beside him, the wolf slumping down at his feet, and watches as Shiro’s gaze goes distant, like he’s staring at something far, far away. 

“There’s a white light, and something like… clouds? And she’s there, her eyes closed like she’s sleeping. She looks just like she did then, when we…” Shiro stops, his mouth setting before he continues, “when she sacrificed herself. She doesn’t wake up, but I can feel something, some kind of call, and it just _feels_ like Allura.” He smiles ruefully, his eyes drifting back to Keith. “I know that sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t,” Keith says. “I believe you.”

“I know,” Shiro replies, his eyes soft as he smiles. “Somehow, I knew you would.”

Silence falls between them, filled with the comforting hum of the ship, the soft huff of the sleeping wolf’s breath.

“It’s late,” Keith says lamely, though truthfully he has no idea of the time. “Do you wanna—” He waves a hand at the door, a vague suggestion that they head back to their separate quarters and try to sleep.

Shiro’s grin widens. “Actually, since you’re already here… how would you feel about a sparring partner?”

“Sure.” Keith’s voice comes out nonchalant but his heart picks up pace under his ribs. It’s been so long since he last sparred with Shiro. The last time they were in this close of quarters, it wasn’t even Shiro, and Keith was fighting for his life, and for Shiro’s, too. It was when he said—

“Thought you might want to give this a try again—see if you’re still as good as I remember.” Shiro tosses something through the air to him and Keith catches it reflexively. He looks down to where his fingers curl around a grip so familiar it’s as if it was made for him, a curved crescent of white and black around his knuckles.

His Bayard.

“I thought…” Keith swallows, turning his wrist to examine the Bayard in his hand, relearning the shape of it in his hand. “I never considered the Bayards would still be around, since we lost the Lions.”

Shiro nods, stepping closer into Keith’s space, his eyes on the Bayard. “I know. For some reason it seems like they should be a packaged deal. But the suits and the Bayards were left on the Atlas, even when the Lions went away.”

“Wow. Do they still work?”

Shiro’s mouth curls into a grin. “You tell me.”

Keith flicks his hand, feels the familiar surge of quintessence rushing through him, trickling through his shoulders down to his hand and into the Bayard. There’s a sound like a humming slice, and then his sword, almost as familiar to him as the luxite blade strapped to his hip, appears in a flash of blue light. Straight blade, white lined with black, the point and edges honed down to paper sharp points.

When he looks up, Shiro is grinning, and Keith realizes that there’s a matching smile on his own face.

“Guess that answers that question,” Keith says, and he takes a step away from Shiro to slice experimentally through the air. He concentrates on the shape of the blade, purposefully dulling the edges until they won’t cut. “You still wanna spar?”

“Absolutely.”

“Wait—what are you going to use?”

The expression on Shiro’s face sets something hot and fierce alight in Keith’s chest. Shiro’s eyes are bright as he raises his tech hand, curling the huge fingers into a fist. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

They face off, Keith with his blunted Bayard sword brandished in front of him and Shiro in a loose fighting stance, his prosthetic braced in front of him like a weapon. They stalk around each other like circling wolves, and the wolf himself watches with calm interest. Somehow he knows this adversary isn’t the same as the others Keith has faced; whether by virtue of Keith knowing it, or by his own sixth sense, the wolf knows Shiro is safe.

Keith watches Shiro closely, taking in the shift and pull of muscles under his sleep clothes as he stalks around Keith, and he sees the moment Shiro moves to strike, dodging nimbly out of the way as the Altean hand slices towards him. He’s under it and whirling to strike back at Shiro with his sword in an instant, but Shiro’s ready, his tech hand spinning to block the blow.

Shiro’s fast, his body moving like a thunderstrike, control and power in each movement. He fights differently than Keith but no less effectively, a hair less speed that he makes up for with strength, by calculating and anticipating his opponent’s next move. His grey eyes are sharp, scanning for a tell, for a hint of how Keith is going to attack.

It’s been a long time since Keith has sparred with Shiro, but he doesn’t have to fight to remember; his body responds to Shiro’s on autopilot, crashing against him like a tidal wave, flowing away from his answering strikes. He’s never fought against this new arm before, and Shiro uses it like he was born with it. There’s a comfort to this one that he never seemed to have with the one forced upon him by the Galra. Of course, it also has a range of motion that the other didn’t, and Keith is busy blocking Shiro’s mean left hook when the thing catches him about the ankle and drags him down to his back on the floor with a grunt.

He blinks up at Shiro, who grins down at him. “C’mon, Keith, I know you can do better than that.” He reaches out with the offending hand, pulling Keith to his feet. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

Keith can feel himself flushing and he cracks his neck from side to side to hide it. “Best two out of three?”

Shiro’s grin is predatory; Keith is reminded of a stalking lion as he sinks fluidly into a crouch, waiting. “You’re on.”

This time Keith strikes first, spinning low under Shiro’s counter attack to land a kick on his ribs. He pulls it so it’s only a tap against the firm muscle of Shiro’s side and spins away as Shiro wheels to strike back. He moves counter to Shiro, brushing against his back as he turns, and his skin comes alive with the contact.

He barely ducks under the swing of Shiro’s prosthetic—the thing moves faster than a human arm possibly could—knocking it away with the humming blade of his Bayard. He’s watching for the Altean hand this time, and he dives out of the way, using his momentum to strike low and hard against the back of Shiro’s knees with his shin, taking him to the mat. He’s up and over Shiro, the tip of his Bayard pointed at Shiro’s chest before Shiro can strike out with the prosthetic again.

“Shit, I forgot how fast you are,” Shiro says, chuckling appreciatively. He accepts the hand Keith offers, letting himself be pulled to his feet.

Keith grins. “I learned from the best.” He flicks the Bayard in his hand, twirling the sword elegantly around his wrist. “Last round. You ready for me to kick your ass?”

Instead of answering, Shiro lunges. He knocks aside the Bayard and tackles Keith, who barely manages to slip out of his hold, using Shiro’s weight to throw him over his hip. Shiro isn’t phased, regaining his balance with barely a stumble, as though that was what he intended all along. He lashes out at Keith’s leg with a foot, hooking and dragging his leg out from under him. He raises his prosthetic to strike, and it skids off the Bayard with a screech as Keith parries, diving out from under Shiro before he can get him pinned.

They move together, striking and parrying, weaving around each other. The air is thick with their breath, the scent of sweat and sounds of their grunts and the clash of feet and hands and weapons. Keith catches a glimpse of Shiro’s face, through the sweat dripping out of his hair, and notices that he’s smiling, bright and fierce, and realizes with a start that he’s smiling too.

He catches Shiro’s eye and Shiro grins even wider, and that’s when Keith sees his opening. He doesn’t hesitate, diving in and dodging Shiro’s left fist with a thrust that should end the entire match. 

But Shiro’s huge Altean hand locks around the blade, pushing it up and drawing him in close until they’re pressed thigh to thigh, leaning into each others shoulders. Keith raises his free hand just in time to catch the strike Shiro sends him with his left, and then they’re pressed together from knee to shoulder, their faces only a breath apart. Shiro’s eyes catch his and they’re lit with a bright grin, so unlike the one Keith saw last time they were locked in a struggle like this. There’s fire there, sure, but his eyes are clear and grey, and there’s a heat there that has nothing to do with anger.

Keith’s breath catches in his throat.

The smile drops from Shiro’s lips, replaced with something else, and they stop fighting by some mutual understanding. They don’t draw away. And then slowly, Shiro’s eyes drop from where they’re locked with Keith’s to land on his mouth.

Keith hears the gasp as it pries itself from his own lips and he draws himself back instinctively, pulling away from the surge of heat deep in his belly. He’s had years of practice locking away his desire, had thought he had it down to an art, but it seems the time they’d spent apart had thinned it to the breaking point. He’s forgotten how to hide.

He breaks away from Shiro’s grasp, the Bayard flashing away until he’s left with nothing but the crescent curve of the handle in his hand. _Shiro’s married_ , he berates himself, pressing his eyes tight as he draws in what he hopes is a steadying breath. _Shiro’s married, and he’s your best friend._

“Keith—?” Shiro’s voice is low and soft, and there’s a hint of confusion there that Keith wants to chase with his mouth. But he can’t turn back, can’t face Shiro like this, not when he can still feel the heat of his body pressed up against him, still see the warm longing in his eyes that must be a mirror of his own.

“I think I’m tired enough to sleep now. Guess you still got it, Old Timer.” Keith’s voice comes cracked and splintered from his own lips. “Call it a draw?” 

“Sure.”

Keith swallows and makes his way towards the door without looking back. The wolf pushes himself to his feet with a huff and follows at his heels. “Goodnight, Shiro.”

He chances one glance over his shoulder and he sees the small smile Shiro sends back at him. “Goodnight, Keith. Sleep well.”

Keith’s heart is still hammering when he throws himself onto the bed in his room. And despite what he told Shiro, he doesn’t sleep a wink that night.

*****

“Hey Hunk, can you pass me that Bellexium Spanner?”

Hunk reaches for the toolkit, the contents of which are steadily spreading themselves around the bridge. He pulls out what Keith assumes must be the spanner, passing it under the console to where Pidge is currently buried, messing around with wires and all sorts of electronic gadgets Keith wouldn’t know how to put a name to.

“What exactly are you doing, again?” Keith asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I’m rigging an internal amplifier to boost signal strength.” Pidge’s voice echoes hollowly from underneath the console. “Right now whatever we’re looking for isn’t strong enough for us to pick up. This’ll help us by pulling in the weak signal, boosting it, and then rebroadcasting it so that we can capture it and track it down. At least, that’s the theory.”

“It’s a good theory! And hey, maybe we can get rid of that nasty electrical charge we’ve been carrying. We’ll be _ex-static_!” Hunk slaps his own thigh, giggling helplessly to himself. “Get it?”

Pidge emerges, sniggering, to bump her fist against Hunk’s. “Good one!” There’s a smudge of dust across her cheek.

“Sorry I asked,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. “But this is gonna help us find Allura?”

Hunk and Pidge exchange glances. “Maybe. We hope so.” Hunk scratches a hand through his hair. “I mean, it couldn’t hurt. At the very least it’ll increase Atlas’ scanning range.”

Pidge whips off her glasses, polishing them slowly on one sleeve. Keith recognizes it as the kind of tic she’d always had—a self-soothing gesture she’d developed since inheriting the glasses from Matt. “I’m running every kind of scan I can think of, looking for the kind of energy signature something like what Lance and Shiro have seen would be giving off. I just—don’t know what to look for. Dreams aren’t really an exact science.”

“Yeah.” Keith frowns down at the floor. “Hey, guys? Is Shiro… okay?”

The silence goes on so long that he looks up, catching Pidge and Hunk as they look hurriedly away from each other. “He, uh. He hasn’t talked to you?”

“No? What’s wrong with him?” Keith straightens suddenly, the same fierce protective fear he always holds for Shiro looming up in his chest. “Is something wrong with Shiro?”

“Whoa Keith, buddy! Chill out, okay?” Hunk takes a step toward him, hands held out in front of him like he’s calming a spooked animal. “Nothing’s wrong with Shiro.” He shoots an uneasy look at Pidge, who shrugs. “You just gotta—just talk to him alright?”

Keith forces himself to settle back against the console. “Yeah alright.”

“In the meantime,” Pidge says, “make yourself useful and pass me that crimper.”

It takes several minutes of pointing and Keith holding up the wrong gadget until he finally finds what she’s looking for and she snatches it from his hand.

Keith picks up an adjustable wrench, absently spinning the dial between his fingers. The metal is cool against the pads of his finger and thumb, warming beneath the heat of his hand. Surely Shiro would’ve told him if something was wrong? They talk every phoeb without fail, even though he misses his friend and sometimes feels like the space between them is growing larger even than the light-years between them.

The viewscreen at the helm of the Atlas flickers to life and Keith startles to his feet as Krolia’s face fills the screen. “Mom? What’s going on?”

There’s a sound like laser fire and Pidge yelps when she jumps and hits her head on the underside of the console. 

“Keith,” Krolia says, “I’m afraid I’m going to be a little longer getting to our rendezvous point than originally planned.” Her voice is harried, terse, and there’s a line between her brows that isn’t hidden by the disheveled strands of her purple hair. “This planet has been on the brink of civil war and some of the insurgents have started attacking the capital.”

An explosion in the distance rocks the screen and Krolia curses lowly in Galra. Dust drifts down from the ceiling of the room she’s in and Keith is instantly on alert.

“Shit,” Keith swears under his breath. Then, louder, “Pidge, get Shiro up here.” She nods and darts over to a different screen, her tiny hands flying across the panel as she opens up a channel to the rest of the ship. “Mom, we’re on our way.”

“Keith, we have this under control. You should stay on course.”

Keith shakes his head sharply. “Forget it. We’re on our way, okay? Just hold on ‘til we get there.”

A small, exasperated smile ticks up the corner of her mouth, and Keith feels his do the same. “See you soon, Keith,” she says softly.

“Love you, Mom.” The screen flickers dark just as the door to the bridge hisses open, admitting Shiro, with Lance and Coran following quickly on his heels.

“What’s wrong?” Shiro says, and his voice is all business, Captain of the Atlas on deck. “What’s going on?”

“My mom’s in trouble. The city they’ve been supplying on Krell is under attack.”

It’s all he has to say. Shiro nods, his brow knitting into the fiercely determined gaze Keith knows like his own as he steps up to his platform. “Coran, set a course for Krell.” He extends his hands and the orange screens around him start to glow with the same eerie blue light which emanates from the shoulder port of his tech arm.

A wormhole spirals into existence under Shiro’s hand and Keith’s heart picks up its rhythm, hammering against his ribcage. As they’re swallowed up by the wormhole, Keith’s gaze flashes to Shiro, taking in the tight set of his jaw, the fire in his grey eyes.

“Hold on,” Shiro says, and Keith does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i doubled the length of this chapter in edits lmfao SOB. also my beta is a saint I LOVE U MEG.
> 
> thank you so much for reading! i'm on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino) and i love friends <3


	3. Into the Fray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra thanks to Meg, Kim, and Elenya this week for keeping me going <3

The wormhole spills them out into the atmosphere of Krell, greyish purple clouds parting on Atlas’ prow as Coran guides them down to the surface. All around Keith his teammates are strapping on their Paladin armor, checking weapons with methodical precision they haven’t forgotten even after all this time. Shiro, at the forefront of it all, is ready in his Atlas suit, and Keith feels, as he always does, the weight of the uniform of the Leader of the Blades on his shoulders. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his knife and his heart beats steadily under the reinforced breastplate, his body humming with the upcoming battle.

“Keith,” Shiro calls, shaking him from his reverie, and Keith turns to meet his steely, grey gaze. “You want to give us a rundown on what to expect down there?”

“Right, sure.” Keith clears his throat and steps up beside Shiro. His friends turn to watch him, expectant. “Krell has been a Galra-occupied planet for thousands of years. Since the fall of the Empire, they’ve been rebuilding. After the war they elected a government of mixed Galra and Krellians, and my mom and her team have been working with the locals to support them. It’s been a rough transition, and not everyone was on board with the change.”

“Those in power are always reluctant to give it up,” Pidge says sagely, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose. “Especially if they obtained said power by force.”

“Exactly,” Keith says, grimly. “We’ve been on the lookout for this kind of uprising from the Galra loyalists. We’ve put down a couple of smaller ones across the former Empire, but it sounds like they’re serious this time. Be careful about who you attack; there’ll be Blades and allied Galra there fighting the loyalists.”

“Krell is a very interesting planet!” Coran pipes up from the helm. “There are two races that occupied the planet before the Galra invasion and they lived together with a very symbiotic relationship. Now there are three!” He scans the holographic display in front of him, twisting his moustache. “And we’re about ready to land, Captain!”

“Right,” Shiro says, command in his voice that sends a thrill down Keith’s spine. “Everyone to your stations. You know what to do.”

The Atlas sets down on the outskirts of Krell’s capital city, explosions and laser fire only interrupted by the cloud of dust kicked up by the thrusters as Coran and Shiro guide it to the ground. Keith is out the hatch before the dust has settled, his knife lengthening into its sword form with a flash of white light. The rebel Galra waste no time in storming Atlas; Keith takes out two with a slice of his blade and another with a flying kick as the rest of the Paladins rush out behind him. Hunk and Lance start laying into the attacking insurgents with their Bayard guns, and Pidge has her Bayard out too, striking out with the whip-like cord that lances from it.

Keith blocks a blow from a huge masked Galra, lashing out with one foot to shatter a kneecap, and the wolf materializes in the air above the attacker directly to his left. They seem to recognize him because suddenly there are three of them turned his way, and as he blocks the blow from one, giving an elbow to the face of the second, the third lunges in with a wicked-looking knife. He tries to twists away but he can’t dodge fast enough—

And then Shiro is there, his solid back pressed against Keith’s, blocking the blow with his Altean hand and delivering a truly devastating punch to the attacker’s solar plexus. Keith disarms his adversary with a flick of his blade and Shiro takes out his with a flash of his tech hand.

“Keith!” Lance yells over the din as he blasts another insurgent. “You’re supposed to wait for me and Hunk to clear the vicinity! What’s the point of covering fire if you’re not going to let us _cover you_?”

Keith rolls his eyes.

“He’s got a point, you know,” Shiro says good-naturedly, sending his tech hand zooming across the space to take out a tall, lanky Galra leveling what looks like a gun in Pidge’s direction.

“Too slow,” Keith says, and he can’t help the grin that pulls up his lips as he meets Shiro’s laughing eyes.

“Shiro,” Lance says, between shots of his Bayard gun. “Please do not encourage him!”

Shiro laughs, but the sound is quickly cut off by laserfire. The blasts ricochet off Atlas’ hull, leaving blackened marks behind as Pidge yelps and raises her shield for cover. “Sniper!” Shiro yells over the din. “Two o’clock!”

Keith glances up, catching sight of a lone gunner up on the roof of a nearby building. He dives out of the way with Shiro behind a pile of rubble, the rest of the team scattering behind Atlas’ landing gear as more shots come pelting down around them. “Lance!”

“On it!”

Keith watches as Lance lines up. He sees the moment that strange, seemingly uncharacteristic calm flows through him, sees Lance’s finger tighten on the trigger. He inhales, slow and patient. The instant the enemy gunner pops his head over the edge of the roof, Lance’s gun fires once, a flash of blue fire from the muzzle of the gun. The gunner’s body tumbles from the roof to land heavily on the ground below, a cloud of dust kicking up in its wake like a shroud.

“Nice work, Sharpshooter,” Keith says, grinning, and Lance grins fiercely back.

“We need to clear out this street,” Shiro says, “and get to where the Blades and locals are pinned down.”

Pidge nods, pulling up a holographic map on her gauntlet. “Krolia said they’re here.” She points at the holographic map hovering in the air in front of them. “The quickest way is down this street, then hang a right here, then a left.”

“Wait, wait.” Hunk points at a cluster of red dots on the map. “Are those what I think they are?”

“Those would be enemy forces.”

“That looks like an awful lot of enemies. Maybe we could go around them? Shiro, couldn’t we have parked the Atlas any closer?”

Shiro huffs. “Hunk, this is the closest we could get a ship of that size.”

“Yeah, Hunk, jeez!” Lance fires a shot over the barrier. “Besides, we’re the team that almost single-handedly took out Zarkon, Lotor, _and_ Sendak. You think a couple rebels on the ground can hold us back?”

“Don’t get cocky,” Keith warns. “Stick together, move slow.” The wolf bumps his nose against his back and Keith lets out a reluctant chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, buddy, we’re going. Everyone on me!”

He places a hand on the back of the wolf’s neck and winks out of existence, reappearing above a rebel making his way to the Paladins’ hiding spot. Keith takes him out with a quick flash of his blade, letting the wolf teleport him across the square to take out another with a well-placed roundhouse kick.

“Show off!” Lance yells, but he dives out from behind the barrier with the others, firing his gun as they make their way across the open space to the cover of the buildings.

It's slow going, inching their way street by street. They capture as many of the rebels as they can, handcuffing them and leaving them bound to streetlamps and fence posts. Keith leads the way, Shiro and Pidge behind him and Hunk and Lance bringing up the rear.

He peers cautiously around a street corner, ducking hastily back behind a building when laser fire lights up the street. The wolf snarls and disappears, reappearing to attack one of the assailants across the street, as Shiro sends his arm rocketing over to take out another. There are frantic shouts in Galran and suddenly an explosion fills the air with dust and rubble, and Keith pulls back, coughing.

"Hang on!" Hunk yells, "I got this!" He braces his Bayard gun and fires upward, two turrets appearing where the shots land. They immediately turn and begin firing in the direction of the Galra assailants, and he yells, stepping around the corner of the building to fire alongside them.

The wolf reappears at Keith's side and teleports him to behind the blockade, and he strikes out with his Marmora blade, engaging two of them in a flurry of thrusts. Hunk's turrets take out three of them, just as Keith flips the last over his back. Keith lands heavily on their back, wrenching their arms behind them to cuff them quickly.

The Paladins move on, falling back into a natural formation, and Keith wonders if the others notice how they assume their places in the same configuration that the Lions would take when they would form Voltron. Shiro and Keith at the head, Pidge to their left with Hunk behind, and Lance behind them to the right. He feels safe like this, complete, and they still move as though they’re connected. It’s been deca-phoebs since they last flew together, even more since they last formed Voltron, but he knows these five people like he knows himself, barely has to look at them to anticipate where they will be and what they’ll do.

They reach the building where Krolia and the other Blades are pinned down, fighting fiercely side by side with the Krellians. The rebels aren’t nearly as skilled but they have them in sheer numbers, a swell of loyalist Galra spilling out onto the street from every direction.

Keith runs into the fray, but the wolf gets there first. He ports directly into the path of a Galra running straight for Krolia who has her back turned as she fights three of them at once. The wolf lunges at the Galra, taking him down with huge paws to the gut. There’s a flash of slavering jaws and white teeth, and the Galra doesn’t get up again.

Lance and Hunk open fire, Pidge lets loose her Bayard hook to swing from an overhang and kick a Galra in the head. At Keith’s side Shiro launches his arm, racing after it to land a wicked left with his human hand.

Someone is yelling angry vicious words in Galra, but Keith pays them no heed. He reaches out his hand and the wolf is there, porting him to Krolia’s side. He plants himself at her back, brandishing his blade and slicing through the armor of one of the attackers, a solid kick to the chest sending the Galra flying into the wall of a nearby building.

“Glad you could make it,” she says, and there’s strain in her voice, sweat dripping down into her eyes, but she spares him a toothy grin that he can’t help but return.

“Didn’t want to miss out,” he replies, and he moves with her to counter the next attack.

“The Paladins!” someone shouts, the words undercut with the crash of blades and blast of laserfire. “It’s the Paladins of Voltron!”

Even now, the legend of Voltron means something. A cheer goes up in the square, the sound raw and visceral and triumphant, making goosebumps race over Keith’s skin. He feels his mother’s steady presence at his back, sees Shiro, unstoppable as a tidal wave, leading his friends across the square. The Krellians and allied Galra shift from fighting for their lives to beating back the loyalists with a ferocity that surprises their foes and Keith throws himself into the battle alongside them.

******

By the time the dust settles, Krell’s sun is starting its descent below the horizon, painting the sky in soft tones of pink and orange. They have minimal casualties and a handful of prisoners, and the Blades drag the leader of the loyalists to a small room in the nearby Blade headquarters. Krolia sends her second in command to tend to the civilians, joining the Paladins to interrogate the prisoner. Keith is surprised when Shiro begs off and he watches him walk away with a frown.

At his shoulder, the wolf whines, and Keith looks up to find the wolf’s eyes on Shiro’s back. “Why don’t you go with him, huh? Look after him for the both of us.”

The wolf huffs and disappears in a flash, reappearing in sparkling blue at Shiro’s side. Shiro jumps visibly and the sound of his startled laugh carries to Keith from across the square. Keith’s sharp eyes catch the small quirk of a smile that Shiro shoots his way and he smiles back at his friend. He buries his concern and forces himself to turn to the task at hand, knowing the wolf will watch out for Shiro even if he can’t.

The leader of the rebel Galra is broad as Hunk, taller than Pidge even while seated. His hands are bound behind his back, and he watches them with pupil-less yellow eyes as they file into the room, forming a semi-circle around him.

“Well well, if it isn’t the Paladins of Voltron,” he sneers. His eyes flick from Krolia to Keith. “Where’s your fancy armor, Black Paladin? Or are you too good for Voltron now that you’re the head of the Marmora traitors?

Keith hears the creak of Hunk’s armor as he shifts restlessly. He keeps his expression neutral, staring blankly down at the Galra.

“I’m surprised to see all the Paladins back together again. I had heard you had disbanded, but I suppose rumors can only be trusted so far. But where are the Lions I wonder?”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Jeez, does this guy ever shut up?”

The Galra turns his sharp, yellow-eyed glaze in Lance’s direction. He appraises him slowly, his lip curling with disdain when his gaze lands on the curved Altean marks on his cheekbones.

“You’re looking a little the worse for wear, Altean.”

Keith sees Lance’s fingers twitch where they’re wrapped around the barrel of his Bayard gun, as though he wants to reach up and touch the marks on his own cheeks. “Not Altean,” Lance says, sharply. “Just playing one on TV.”

“Oh that’s right. There was only one Altean Paladin.” His smirk widens, exposing pointed yellowing fangs in a grin that looks more like a snarl. “And she died, didn’t she.”

Lance’s hand jerks up, his fingers closing into a fist. Hunk lets out a shocked gasp but Keith reacts, his own hand snapping out to close around Lance’s wrist before he can swing.

“Lance, no!”

“That’s right,” the Galra sneers. “Listen to your fearless leader.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Keith barks. “The only reason I’m not pummeling you into the ground myself right now is that we need information.”

The Galra spits. “You won’t get any information from me. You might as well kill me.”

“That can be arranged,” Krolia hisses under her breath, but Keith is the only one who hears. He flicks her a glance, which she returns, steadily.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Pidge pipes up. “We don’t need you to _tell_ us anything to get information from you.” She looks at Keith for approval.

Keith nods. “Do it.”

Pidge darts over to the computer, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose and lacing her fingers together to crack them before she starts to type. Her fingers fly across the screen, characters of the Galran alphabet reflecting on the lenses of her glasses as she flicks through commands faster than the eye can follow.

The Galra cranes his neck, straining against his bonds as he tries in vain to peer around Hunk’s bulk. “What are you doing?”

Krolia crosses her arms over her chest, looking down her nose at the Galra with contempt. “Did you never hear of the Green Paladin’s prowess with technology? If it’s on a computer, network, sentry, or drone, she will find it. There are no secrets from Pidge.”

Pidge darts a grin at Krolia over her shoulder before returning to her work.

“She’s right,” Keith says. “Pidge was the one who single-handedly prevented Sendak from taking control of the Castle of Lions. She developed the virus that took out Zarkon’s ship. She’s hacked into Galra systems more times than I can count. So, is there anything you want to tell us, or should I let her pull it out of your ship computer piece by piece?”

“I’ll never tell you anything, Paladin.”

Lance looks sideways at Keith. “Jeez. Dramatic much?” His voice is quieter than usual, more sombre.

Keith shoots him a quick grin, just a tick up of the corner of his mouth, but he sees Lance’s mouth curl begrudgingly in return. He shrugs back at the Galra prisoner, nonchalant, and settles himself against the wall, crossing his ankles in front of him. “Have it your way then.”

Lance slumps against the wall beside him as they settle in to wait while Pidge works her magic. “Sorry,” he says lowly. “Don’t know what that was about.” He scuffs a booted foot against the floor, his throat pulling as he swallows hard around his grief.

“I do,” Keith says. “You don’t have to apologize to me, Lance.” Lance is better at hiding it than Keith ever was, but that pain—it’s something Keith knows.

Lance sighs, darting a glance at Keith out of the corner of his eye. He hears what Keith doesn’t say. “You know, when Shiro disappeared after we fought Zarkon… we were all hurting. It sucked, you know? But none of us ever really understood what it was like for you.” His swipes a hand over his eyes. “I get it now.”

Keith wants to protest, wants to say _it’s not the same_ but he can’t get the words out. He knows they’re a lie, as surely as Lance would. So instead he lets Lance grieve, and he stays, silent and steady at his side.

“I found something,” Pidge chirps eventually, and the Paladins and Krolia crowd around her. Lance keeps his gun trained on the Prisoner.

“What is it, Pidge?”

“Looks like—orders?” She frowns, her eyes flicking side to side rapidly as she skims the screen. “Something about an energy sou—wait.” She ducks back to the panel and continues typing. “It looks remarkably similar to the energy that was being given off by the celestial bodies in the Patrulian Zone!”

“I understood probably five of those words,” Lance retorts over his shoulder. “Can you give it to us again in English, Pidge?”

“The loyalist Galra are congregating at this one point in space and they’re not the only ones either. Ships are coming from all over. There’s some kind of huge energy source there that they want to take control of. Something they haven’t seen before. But it looks like...”

Keith fights back his impatience. “Like what, Pidge?”

She swallows, her fingers finally stilling as she looks back over her shoulder at him. “Like Oriande.”

“What?” Hunk’s eyes are alarmed as they dart between Pidge and Keith, as if Keith has any answers to give. “But it can’t be Oriande, can it? Didn’t Honerva destroy it?”

“It’s not Oriande,” Pidge says. “At least I don’t think so. But the energy signature is remarkably similar.”

“You don’t think—” Lance looks up and makes eye contact with Keith, something like hope in his blue eyes. “You don’t think it’s Allura?”

“I don’t know,” Keith says. “But we’re going to find out.”

******

He finds Shiro on the bridge of the Atlas, alone but for the wolf who has perched himself steadfastly at Shiro’s side. The ship is quiet, only the constant reassuring hum of the Atlas around them and the soft pad of Keith’s booted feet breaking the silence. The wolf looks up at the sound, his ears perking up, and he ports over to Keith’s side with a flash of blue, leaving sparkling motes of stardust in his wake.

“Good boy,” Keith murmurs. The wolf noses under Keith’s hand and Keith smiles and pats him obligingly as he makes his way across the bridge.

The orange glow of Altas’ systems idling away in the background casts a warm light on Shiro’s face, tinting his silvery hair with warmth where he’s staring out the view screen at nothing. His Altean fingers trace absent patterns on the darkened panel in front of him.

“Nice work out there today.”

Shiro looks up from where he’s seated in Coran’s chair at the helm and graces him with a soft smile. It makes Keith’s heart speed up inside his chest. “Hey, Keith.”

“Hey. You sure can do a lot with that Altean prosthetic. You seem more comfortable with this one than you were the other one.”

“Yeah.” Shiro holds up the arm in question, twisting it this way and that as though examining it. “It feels different. The other one—I had it because the Galra took away a part of me against my will. Even though they replaced it with something that could do everything my other arm could and more, it never felt like mine.” He looks up at Keith, and his smile is strangely sad. “It makes a difference that I chose this one for myself.”

A familiar anger writhes up in Keith’s gut, ferocious and wild, even after all this time. He would punish each and every Galra who had a part in Shiro’s capture, in his torture and mutilation, if it were in his power to do so. Shiro must see the anger twist on his face, or maybe in the clench of his gloved fist at his side—he’s never been very good at hiding how he feels—because he waves a dismissive hand.

“It’s better now, Keith, don’t worry. How did it go out there, with the prisoners?”

It’s a clear attempt to change the subject, but Keith lets it go. “Pidge found some logs on their computer systems. There’s some weird disturbance in space, some kind of power signature that looks like the one you saw when you all went to Oriande. Pidge thinks it could be what you and Lance have been seeing in the dreams.” He grimaces. “And it looks like some of the loyalist Galra are trying to take control of it and are willing to fight to do it.”

Shiro grimaces. “I guess we didn’t bring peace to the Universe quite yet, huh?”

Keith laughs humorlessly. “I guess not. It’s too bad we don’t have the Lions anymore. Could really use Voltron right about now.”

Shiro swallows, his eyes tracking to the screen in front of him. Keith follows his gaze, watching as dusk creeps over Krell, stealing away the light. Up above, where the sky has grown darkest, the first stars are sparking to life. Finally, Shiro says, softly, “I always wonder why the Lions left. There was still so much more to be done.” Shiro shakes his head as if pulling himself from memories. “So, what do you want to do?”

“I came to ask you that,” Keith says, letting himself grin. Shiro laughs, so Keith continues. “We were thinking of leaving tomorrow. Just have to sort out the Blades first, make sure this outpost is secure, in case any of the loyalists come back. And then we’re going to check it out. Pidge wants to see you when you have a minute; see if she can run some tests on your arm and match the signature to what she’s seeing in their systems.”

“Okay.” He begins to stand, but Keith stops him.

“Hey, Shiro. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

Keith approaches cautiously, slowly. He’s not sure where they stand right now, after the awkward moment on the training deck a few quintants back. He parks himself a short, safe distance behind Shiro’s chair.

“You left when we were about to question that Galra. You just seem—a little out of it. That’s all.”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’m fine, Keith, really. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“I always worry about you,” Keith says, his brow furrowing. “You don’t always have to take on everything by yourself, you know.”

He’s shocked when Shiro chuckles. “Actually, that’s—kind of relevant. To why I left.” He swallows hard. “I've been seeing a therapist, back home.”

Keith feels his eyebrows jump up in surprise. “Good. That's good, right?”

“Yeah, it is. She has lots of experience working with veterans and other people suffering from PTSD.” Shiro looks up to meet Keith’s eyes. “You know I have nightmares.”

Keith knows. He remembers the nights waking up to Shiro’s cries when they were holed up together in the Black Lion on their way to earth, shaking him awake and holding him as he shook. He remembers curling his hands into fists so tight his nails threatened to break the skin of his palms, aching to save Shiro from this foe, this thing he couldn’t fight. He nods.

“Well, one of the things she recommended was to distance myself from anything that would be… triggering. She made me promise before I left on this mission that I would try.”

Keith thinks he understands. “So you stepped away from the interrogation of a prisoner.”

Shiro nods. “Sorry.”

“Wh—Shiro.” Keith shakes his head incredulously. “You never have to apologize for that. I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. Do you need to call her?” He takes a step closer, and though the words sting on the way out, he says, “Or you could call—Curtis? Maybe it would help if you talk to him?”

Shiro looks up sharply at Keith, his thick brows knitting together in puzzlement. “Curtis?” he asks, and there’s confusion in his face that Keith doesn’t understand. “Why would I… didn’t anyone tell you?”

“No? Tell me what?”

Shiro grimaces, raking a hand through his silvery hair. “Curtis and I… split up.”

Keith feels his mouth fall open and he gapes blankly at Shiro. “What? When?”

“The divorce just went through, but it’s been over for a while. A couple years, I guess.”

“Years? Shiro!” Keith’s can feel that his eyes are wide, shock racing through him, and more than a little hurt. Beside him, the wolf looks up from where he’d had his head pillowed on his outstretched paws, letting out a distressed whine. “Why didn’t you tell me? We talk all the time! You didn’t think to tell me you’d gotten a divorce?”

“I didn’t want to bother you with it.” He looks pained. “You haven’t been back for a while. You’re busy doing more important things up here, and there just wasn’t a good moment.”

“For two years, Shiro?!”

“You’re right. I should’ve told you.”

“Damn right, you should’ve.” Keith crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re my best friend. I mean… you are, aren’t you?”

The expression on Shiro’s face when he meets Keith’s eyes then is devastated, the steel shattered. “Keith,” he says softly, “of course. Of course you're my best friend.”

Keith nods sharply. “Okay, then. Well, as your best friend, I would have wanted to help you. You're not a burden to me, Shiro. And I’m sorry if—” he sucks in a breath. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me. I want you to know you always can.”

Shiro smiles, small and sad.“Yeah. Yeah, I know, Keith. Thank you.”

Keith fights back the scowl on his face. Now that he thinks about it, he can’t recall the last time he saw Curtis hovering in the background behind Shiro during their calls, or the last time Shiro mentioned him in a recorded transmission. He feels a little stupid having missed it, but then, he never did spare much attention for Shiro’s then-husband, except as he related to Shiro. “So—what happened?”

“I wish I could explain it better but…” Shiro shrugs. “I just wasn’t happy. He was… he loved me, and he was safe and comfortable, and I convinced myself that was what I wanted. After the war, I… I was trying to fit myself into a box that wasn’t the right shape or size for me.” The smile drops from his face. “You’d think I would’ve learned after what happened with Adam.”

Keith bristles. He’s pretty well versed in defending Shiro after this many years of friendship, even if the person he’s defending him from is himself. “I’m sure it wasn’t your fault, Shiro. This, or the thing with Adam either.”

“That’s kind of you to say, but I hurt him, Keith. He didn’t deserve what I put him through.”

“Stop doing that.” Keith crosses his arms tightly over his chest, as though the motion can still the ache of his heart. “Anyone who knows you knows that whatever happened, you had the best intentions. Quit beating yourself up over it. You deserve to be happy, and you deserve a chance to try to find that happiness, even if… even if it ends up not being the right choice.”

“Even if I hurt people in the process?”

“Even then.” Shiro is the best person Keith knows. If there’s anything he believes, down to his bones, it’s that Shiro deserves to be happy. “Besides, I'm sure he’s not entirely blameless.”

“Keith—”

“Shut up,” Keith says, scowling stubbornly down at Shiro. “I hate him, and you can’t change my mind. I’ll hate him for both of us.”

He doesn’t, not really, and Shiro knows it, but it has the desired effect—Shiro’s shocked into laughter. Keith grins, and lets himself take a step closer, drawn in by the gravity of Shiro’s honest mirth. He waits, watching as Shiro’s laughter subsides, replaced by something more sombre.

“My therapist, she’s been helping me work through my—guilt. Over everything that happened.” Keith frowns at the mention of guilt, thinking to argue, but Shiro continues. “It's been helping.” He gives another small smile at Keith over his shoulder.

Keith reaches down without thinking, resting his hand on Shiro’s shoulder. “I'm glad, Shiro. I’m glad you found someone to help you.”

“It also made me realize that what I wanted wasn't to be stuck on earth. I just—Keith, I was so tired, after everything I—after everything we went through. So broken... I thought what I wanted was to settle down but it wasn't. I missed—the stars. I missed being up here, in space.” He pauses, and his voice is low and wounded when he continues. “I missed you.”

Keith’s breath catches in his throat, the words tangling up inside his chest, but he makes himself say them anyway. “I missed you too, Shiro. Every day.” It’s the truest thing he’s ever said to Shiro, except for those three words he said that day in desperation, on the platform of the clone facility. “I never wanted to leave, but I had things I needed to do up here. There were people that needed help.”

Shiro nods, but the smile drops slowly from his face. He turns away, directing his gaze out at the vast expanse of gathering stars in front of them. “I know. And I never would have wanted you to miss out on that opportunity. But I should have been up here with you.”

“It's not too late.” Keith says. His heart picks up speed inside his chest. He doesn’t say, _I’ll always be here. I’ll never give up on you_ , but maybe Shiro hears it anyway.

Shiro reaches up, unerringly, and finds Keith’s hand with his own. His thumb traces a shaky path down the length of Keith’s, and he feels Shiro's fingers tighten, urgently, like he’s grasping for something to hold onto, like Keith's grip is the only thing holding him together.

Keith squeezes Shiro’s shoulder and doesn’t pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F I N A L L Y.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! I'm on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino) if you want to come say hi!


	4. Lost and Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you ready? Here we go.

“I’ll see you soon,” Krolia promises, tipping her head up to press a kiss to Keith’s forehead. Around them, the Blades are bidding goodbye to the Krellian officials and loading the last of their supplies back onto the transport. The loyalists they’ve captured are already on board, secured and under heavy guard. There’s the murmur of gruff voices, the scuff of booted feet, and behind them, the rumble of the Marmora ship preparing for launch. “We’ll deliver the prisoners to Daibazaal and rendezvous with you afterwards. Have Pidge send us the coordinates once she’s nailed them down.”

Keith nods, and Krolia pulls back to smile at him, squeezing his shoulders with big, clawed hands. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

She laughs when the wolf headbutts her impatiently, turning to ruffle his coat affectionately. “Take care of our boy,” she says, and the wolf rumbles low in his chest as if in answer.

Keith watches the ship take off, shielding his eyes against the dust kicked up by the engines as it departs Krell’s atmosphere, a purple comet streaking across the sky. He turns with the wolf on his heels, making his way back to the bridge of the Atlas, where the Paladins and Coran have gathered around Pidge and her makeshift station. She’s made it hers with the addition of her usual clutter—more datapads than Keith thinks she should have in her possession strewn around along with two empty drink boxes and a discarded hoodie.

“What’d I miss?” he asks. His friends turn at the sound of his voice and Shiro gives him a soft smile, shifting to make room for him in the small circle they’ve made around Pidge.

“Pidge was just filling us in on her findings,” Shiro says.

Keith nods, filling the space Shiro makes for him, fighting down the rising tide of heat in his belly. There’s a charge between them now that he can’t name, like something wild has been set free since their talk a few quintants back. It’s good—it’s better than good—except he feels laid bare and defenceless to it, at its mercy.

They’ve spent long on the planet and Keith is eager to take to the skies again, needs something to keep him from being alone with his thoughts. He’s kept himself busy debriefing the Blades and the Krellians, and sometimes, in good, old-fashioned manual labor; anything to keep his eyes from lingering like they do now on the line of Shiro’s back as he bends to look at the readings Pidge took from his arm, or the curve of his smile when he catches Keith’s gaze.

“—so it definitely looks like this what we’ve been searching for,” Pidge is saying. “Shiro’s arm and Allura’s crystal inside it are putting out similar kinds of wavelengths to whatever this energy signature is, just on a much smaller scale.” Her fingers fly over the console in front of her, pulling up a holographic map that hovers in front of them. “Plus, if we look at the coordinates I took from the loyalists' computers, and compare them to the maps my dad saved from the Castle of Lions—” she pulls up another map, laying it on top of the other in demonstration.

Coran’s brow furrows as he leans in, ducking his head at different angles to observe the hologram. “There’s nothing there on the Castle’s map!”

“Exactly,” Pidge says. “Whatever this is, it wasn’t there before.”

“You think it’s her, Pidge?” Lance says, and the hope in his voice is gut wrenching. “You think it’s Allura?”

“There’s no way to know for sure until we see it up close.” She looks up at him and adjusts her glasses solemnly, pushing them up her nose with one finger. “I’m only guessing, but given how similar it is to Oriande, and the amount of energy this thing is giving off, and how many Galra are interested in it, I think it’s a valid hypothesis.”

Shiro reaches out with his human hand to knock her teasingly on the shoulder. “Your guesses are better than most people’s facts.”

She beams up at him toothily.

“So, if it is Allura, how do we get her out?” Hunk bends to squint at the map. “Is it like some kind of jail? Or is it _actually_ Allura putting off all that energy?”

“Well, that’s the problem.” Pidge makes a frustrated sound. “It’s too far away for me to get a reading on it. I don’t even know what exactly we’re looking at. I can’t figure out what it is, or how to get in, or if it is Allura, how to get her _out_.”

Shiro frowns. “And we have to be cautious, because it sounds like it might be a hotbed for rebel activity.”

“So what’s the game plan, Team Leader?” Lance turns expectantly to Keith, and the rest follow suit.

Keith takes a step closer, trying to ignore how that brings him in closer proximity to Shiro, how the heat of him at his side lights up his skin even through the layers of his Blade suit. “This is the energy source?” He points at the hologram.

Pidge nods. “And these—” she zooms the image with her finger “—are the beginning of what looks like a truly massive collection of Galra ships.”

“Okay.” He straightens. “So we can’t wormhole too close, or they’ll be on us in a heartbeat. But we need to get closer to see what we’re really dealing with. Right?” At her nod, he continues. “Shiro, can you and Coran get us in as close as possible without detection? And then maybe proximity will let us figure out what we’re dealing with.”

“You got it.”

“Pidge and Hunk, you work on enhancing our scanners,” Keith says. “Lance, you and I will man the guns, just in case they spot us when we come out of the wormhole.”

“Roger that!”

The Paladins and Coran take their places, Shiro at the Captain’s station at the center of the bridge. Shiro guides them through the wormhole, and when they reach the other side, he opens his eyes, coming back to himself. The blue glow around them fades back to that dull orange and Pidge starts tapping away at her console.

“Quiznak,” she growls, her fingers still flying. “I can see a little more but the interference is still too strong. Whatever this is is so _weird_ that I can’t get our scans to focus on it and what’s in or around it.”

Keith frowns. “Can you amplify it?”

“Not enough.” She pulls off her glasses to polish them on her sweater, a frustrated tic. “All I can see is a shit-ton of Galra cruisers on the outskirts of the range and then it all goes fuzzy. Whatever it is is too powerful; it’s putting out too much interference. We’d probably have to be nearly on top of it to even know what we’re dealing with.”

“So how are we going to figure out what we’re up against?” Lance asks. “Just fly in there and hope for the best?”

“That could be suicide,” Shiro says.

“If the only way to figure out what we’re dealing with is to get closer, then we should send a scout,” Keith says. “I can take my fighter; they probably won’t notice another Galra ship entering the field.”

Shiro crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t like the sound of that ‘probably’.”

“It’s the only way,” Keith says. “If it gets hot, I’ll fly myself out of there. You know I can do it.”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth curls up in a reluctant grin and Keith feels himself return it. Shiro gives a short, sharp nod. “Alright. But I’m going with you.”

“What? I can handle it, Shiro, it’s just a scouting mission. You should stay with the rest of the team.”

“They don’t need me.” Shiro turns to the rest of the team. “Right, Lance? Coran? You guys think you can hold down the fort?”

Coran gives a sharp salute. “Right you are, Captain! Don’t you worry about us!”

“Yeah, Keith, chill out.” Lance salutes too, though his is considerably less regulation and far more teasing. “We got this.”

Shiro turns to Keith, a smug smile on his face, as if to say _see? It’s all under control_ , and anyone who thinks Takashi Shirogane is above bull-headedness doesn’t know anything about him.

Keith rolls his eyes, fighting down the twitch of his lips. “Fine. Let’s go.”

They make their way side by side to the hangar deck where his fighter is docked. “You really didn’t need to come with me, you know. It’s just a scouting mission. I can do it alone.” There’s a whine at his side and he smiles softly up at his wolf. “Well, not alone.” He reaches up to scrub a hand through the wolf’s ruff.

“I know,” Shiro says calmly, then glances sidelong at Keith. “I just thought it would be fun.”

“Fun?”

“Yeah, fun. We used to have it together, sometimes, way back in the day?”

Keith tamps down his smile as he climbs up into the fighter, shutting the hatch behind Shiro as he climbs up after him. The wolf teleports right into the cockpit, splaying himself out in his favorite spot beside the console where it will soon be warm from the hum of the instruments.

“Strap in, Shiro,” he warns as he settles himself into the pilot’s seat. “This thing can really move.”

Shiro sits obediently, reaching for the harness to strap himself in next to Keith. “As well as the Red Lion?”

Keith chuckles, tapping the instrument panel in front of him. The screen flickers to life, purplish-pink light filling the small, sleek cabin of the Galra fighter. “Nothing moves as well as the Red Lion. That baby could really fly. So could Black, for that matter. Especially when she got her wings.”

The Atlas’ bay doors slide open and Keith guides them out into the open black of space. They’re silent for a few moments, the sound of the ship around them swallowing up the sound of held breaths as they both take in the vast blackness speckled with stars around them.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“What, the Lions? Voltron?” Keith glances across at Shiro, finding him already watching him with earnest grey eyes. “Honestly? Every day.”

Shiro nods, his mouth twisting wryly. His eyes fall to where his hands are clasped together in his lap, human fingers woven together with tech ones.

“What about you?” Keith asks.

“I used to,” Shiro says. “Until I got to fly the Atlas.” He looks back up at Keith and his smile this time is genuine. “It’s different from flying the Lions, or from being the head of Voltron, but the connection to the ship itself is much the same.”

“So what—it moves differently or something?”

Shiro nods slowly. “Well there’s that. But also—when I’m piloting the Atlas, I have my crew, and the ship is in my head like the Lion was. But I still miss having the rest of you in my head as well. Flying with my friends. That was the true strength and beauty of Voltron.”

“Yeah,” Keith says. “I’m fine without Lance showing off in my head all the time, but I get what you mean. I miss you, too.” He clears his throat. “I miss all of you.” He taps a few unnecessary buttons before turning back around to face Shiro, hoping that his face is under control.

“You can unstrap now, if you want; I promise not to do any barrel rolls.”

Shiro pouts theatrically, even as he reaches for the fastenings. “What kind of promise is that? I thought I told you I was looking for fun?”

Keith rolls his eyes, laughing. “Jeez, I wish the others could hear you when you talk like that. Everyone thinks I’m the bad influence and you’re the stern, responsible one, when really you’re the one sneaking me out to ride stolen hoverbikes at sunset and trying to get me drunk.”

“They weren’t stolen. They were just… borrowed without permission.”

Keith casts an unimpressed gaze over his shoulder to where Shiro has taken up post behind his chair, but it’s shocked off his face by the absolutely shit-eating grin Shiro is wearing. He feels the mock scowl melt off his own face, replaced by a helpless smile to mirror Shiro’s. He always was helpless to Shiro’s good moods.

“Alright,” Keith says, and he doesn’t miss the way Shiro’s face lights up or the flare of warmth that starts up in the pit of his own stomach. “You want fun? I’ll show you fun.”

He flicks a couple of buttons on the console, tightening his grip on the stick. “Hang on to something.”

Shiro whoops as Keith rockets them forward, leaning into the throttle. He lets himself feel the rumble of the fighter, the blast of its engines and the way it responds to his touch. He shows off a little, whipping them through the empty space as though dodging obstacles, all the while feeling the heat of Shiro at his side, the way Shiro leans close into his space with his hands and arms braced against the motion. He grins, revelling in the sound of Shiro’s joyous, unrestrained laughter as they tumble through space, and Keith thinks _this_ is what he’s been missing all this time.

When he slows them, his heart is pounding, his skin alight with adrenaline he thinks is only partially from the thrill of flying. Shiro chuckles in his ear, his breath fanning over Keith’s skin.

“You still got it.”

Keith shrugs. “It’s no Red Lion,” he retorts, and he turns, smiling, to meet Shiro’s eyes—

Only Shiro is much closer than anticipated, his face only an inch away from Keith’s. His eyes go wide, and they’re frozen like that, caught up in the fire of the moment, burning, but unable to pull away. Keith thinks that if he turned his head a little further, Shiro’s nose would brush his cheek. He wants to do it.

He swallows hard, and when he inhales, his breath is loud in his own ears. The sound seems to shake Shiro, because he pulls back abruptly, a pink flush coloring his cheeks.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, and then impossibly, colors even further. “I—I mean, thanks for… that.”

“Yeah,” Keith croaks. “I guess we should get back on track.”

Shiro nods, and he settles back into his chair, a safe, agonizing distance away.

*****

Keith guides them through the ships, most of them Galra, but some others he recognizes less easily among them. He scans what he can, sending the data back to Pidge as he goes while trying to keep a low profile. The last thing they want is to draw the attention of all these enemy ships while the pair of them are separated from the Atlas and stuck in one tiny Galra fighter.

Shiro is tense where he’s returned to Keith’s side, his Altean hand gripping the back of Keith’s chair hard. Keith is no better, braced for fight or flight as he guides them through what feels like a minefield. A soft whine sounds on his left, and Keith looks up to the wolf.

“Hey buddy. We’re okay. Sorry.”

The wolf headbutts him and Keith chuckles, stroking over his muzzle before returning to the task at hand.

“He’s pretty attuned to you.”

Keith turns to look up at Shiro, who’s resting his tech hand on the wolf’s back, stroking slowly over blue fur. “Yeah. I think he might be a little telepathic.”

“With you, or with everyone?”

“Just with me, I think. I don’t really know how it works.” Keith smiles wryly. “Magic probably.”

Shiro huffs a laugh. “You know, when I set out into space I had no idea there would be so much magic flying around out here.”

“Me neither. Speaking of—” Keith squints, guiding them around two roughed-up looking freighters “—is that—?”

He feels the breath catch in his throat, the rest of his words dying on his lips. At his side, Shiro has gone still, and Keith feels Shiro’s hand slip down to clutch at his shoulder.

“It’s Allura,” Shiro chokes out, his voice cracking around the words, and Keith knows that if he trusted himself to speak his own voice would break the same. “We found her.”

The cluster of ships parts to reveal the shimmering light of a nebula, the sparkling blackness of space around them broken by swirls of colorful gas, glittering with stars. Reddish orange, purple and blue converge in a cluster of color, and at its center, glowing with its own unnatural light, is an unmistakable pale blue silhouette made of light, curled in an almost fetal position with her hands cupped close to her chest, streams of hair flowing from her head. She looks peaceful—safe. Keith’s hands tighten involuntarily around the controls, and Shiro’s fingers dig into the muscle of his shoulder.

If Keith had any doubt of the validity of Shiro and Lance’s dreams before, it’s gone now. He doesn’t know what kind of scientific or magical phenomena caused this, how Allura was captured in the stars like some kind of Greek Goddess of old, but she’s there, as plain as day.

Keith reaches for the comms, hailing their friends on the Atlas. “You guys seeing this?”

“We see it,” Pidge’s voice cracks.

“Lance, you okay?” Shiro asks, gently.

“I’m—” Lance’s voice breaks off as he chokes on what sounds like a sob. “I’m okay, I’m good.”

“We’re going to get her back,” Keith says, firmly. “You hear that, buddy? We’re going to get her back.”

“Thanks. I—thanks, Keith.”

“No problem.” Keith enhances the scanners, zooming in on the nebula for a scan. His brow furrows as he catches sight of a Galra cruiser, hidden in the light of the nebula. A stream of blue gas seems to be drifting out of the nebula, a curling tail winding towards the ship. “What’s that?”

Shiro leans in over his shoulder, brow furrowing. “What’s that ship doing?”

“Pidge, can you tell me what I’m looking at, here?”

Muffled beeps and taps as she hammers away at her multitudes of tablets and screens. Then she gasps. “They’re siphoning energy from the nebula! It looks like—they’re draining it. It’s like the Komar that Honerva had on Zarkon’s ship. One of the Galra must have found her schematics and built another one!”

Shiro curses. “Pidge, will it hurt Allura?”

She makes a frustrated sound into the comms. “I don’t know. I still can’t tell how she’s in there, or what the energy source is.”

“Is there a chance?”

“It can’t be good,” she replies, grimly.

Keith nods sharply. “We have to stop it.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“The wolf can get me on the ship.” He’s already shoving himself to his feet, his hands automatically moving to check the blade at the small of his back. “I’ll go in, disable the Komar, then port back.”

Shiro’s mouth is a thin line when Keith meets his eyes. “At least let me come with you to watch your back.”

“No need. I’ll be in and out in five dobashes. Besides, someone needs to stay with the ship. If the Galra capture it we’ll be sitting ducks.”

Shiro’s brow tightens. “And you expect me to pilot a Galra ship without you?”

Keith’s grin widens. “You’ve done it before, haven’t you?” Shiro still looks torn, so Keith steps forward, knocking him with an elbow as he passes. “I’ll be _fine_ , Shiro. Covert ops is kind of the Blade of Marmora’s thing. You can watch my back from out here.”

“Be careful,” Shiro says finally.

“I always am.”

Shiro snorts. “Sure, okay. We’ll pretend that’s true.” He slips past Keith into the pilot’s seat. “Wanna tell me how to work this thing?”

Shiro guides them in as close as he can without alerting the ship to their presence, drifting them into the armada of fighters patrolling around the cruiser like swarming flies. Keith admires his skill as a pilot even now; his time off the front lines haven’t dulled his skills at all, even with the unfamiliar tech under his hands.

Keith reaches one gloved hand for the wolf. “Ready buddy?” The wolf butts his head against Keith’s and Keith laughs.

“Come back safe,” Shiro says.

“I will.” Keith pulls his hood up over his head, lets his mask flicker over his face. He tangles his fingers in the wolf’s ruff and closes his eyes. He feels that familiar rush of energy, sees the blue light flash through his eyelids. There’s the strange lurch of his feet leaving the floor of the ship, then the impact as they land again. He opens his eyes.

They’re in a deserted corridor, the metallic creak of the ship and the low murmur of its engines around them. He flattens himself into a shadowy alcove, the wolf flowing silently into the space at his side. “I’m in,” he whispers.

“Stay sharp,” Shiro’s voice replies in his ear.

“Yes, _sir_ ,” Keith says, and he grins when Shiro chokes and coughs into the comms. He makes his way down the corridor, searching for a console he can patch into, moving silently in his Blade uniform, the soft boots absorbing his footfalls even in the echoing corridor. He trusts the wolf to guard his back, moving as quickly as he can while making no sound. The walls are bathed with that familiar purple light, casting a strange glow over the wolf’s coat and reminding him of the many times he had found himself aboard an enemy Galra ship, both with Voltron and with the Blades.

He finds a computer terminal and patches himself in, and he smiles when the screen starts moving seemingly of its own accord—Pidge working her magic as she digs out the ship blueprints. “You got a map in there, Pidge?”

“Working on it.” Her voice has a pitchy, tinny quality through his mask. He waits a few more moments, his quick gaze watching the corridor while she works. “Got it. Hang a left at the next intersection.”

She guides him through the maze of the cruiser’s interior and he moves quickly and quietly towards the heart of the ship, ducking into alcoves and porting away with the wolf when he runs into drones and Galra going about their business. He knows when he’s getting close, the droning of the engine growing louder, rumbling more noticeable under the fall of his feet as he approaches their engineering deck. 

He finds himself outside a door with a glowing purple symbol he recognizes. He tugs off his glove, pressing a palm to the rectangular pad beside the door. His hand doesn’t fill the outline clearly designed for larger, clawed Galra hands, but a strip of light flows down and scans his palm, and the door to the engineering deck hisses open without complaint.

Two sentries and a Galra engineer turn just as the door opens. The wolf disappears with a snarl and a flash of blue, reappearing to take out both sentries with swift snaps of his jaws. Keith is on the Galra before she can call for help or raise her weapon, diving at her legs to take her to the ground, then pressing a forearm against her windpipe until she passes out. He disarms her and cuffs her to a sturdy looking metal pole, turning to find the wolf sitting proudly in a pile of scattered sentry parts, his tail wagging.

“Good boy,” Keith says, grinning, then speaks into his comms. “Guys, I’m in engineering.” He stops, gazing upward at the clawlike structure mounted above the glowing pinkish crystal used to power the ship. Tendrils of blue light filter down from the points of the claws to the crystal, curling like smoke as it goes. The crystal pulses with a sickly glow, and he can feel the hairs at the back of his neck stand up. He reaches up, scanning the device with his wrist computer. “Pidge, Hunk—either of you have any idea how I can shut this thing down?”

“The easiest would be to disconnect its power supply,” Pidge pipes up.

“Sure, sure,” Hunk reasons, “but you’d have to do it so they can’t reconnect it easily. Otherwise they’d just— _heh_ —plug it back in.”

“Right, so it would be best to sabotage the connection somehow, so it can’t easily be reconnected.”

Keith shifts impatiently, glancing furtively at the door. “Guys, I don’t have all day, here. Give me something I can work with!”

Someone snorts; he thinks it might be Lance. Keith rolls his eyes, waiting with as much patience as he can muster while anxiously watching the door.

“Well, without having the schematics in front of us it’s hard to say,” Pidge says, “but devices like these have a control system, some kind of mainframe that controls its function. You could try to disconnect the motherboard, or you could disrupt the circuits so that it overrides whatever fuses they have in place!”

“Um.” He stares down into the control panel. “Yeah, none of that made any sense to me.” He pads over to the crystal, staring up at where it connects to the Komar. “Hey, what do you think these big cable things do? Something important right?”

“It’s probably all important,” Shiro replies, amused. “Be _careful_ though, Keith.”

Keith grins, sliding his knife from its sheath. It flashes in his hand, the white glow of it chasing away the purple for a split second until the long, curved blade of his sword rests in his hand. “Here goes nothing.” His sword whistles as he slices through the air, severing the bundle of thick cables with one blow, and he dances out of the way of the sparks that fly from the blade.

He looks up, watching the Komar flicker then go dark, and that tingling feeling of surging power weakens and dies with the hum of the device. “Gotcha,” he says, with a grim smile. “Mission accomplished,” he says into his comms. “I’m on my way back.”

Four things happen, then, in quick succession.

Keith feels something behind him, a tickle at the back of his consciousness like glimpsing something out of the corner of his eye. The wolf’s warning snarl turns to a yelp as a flash of bright light lances across the room, crackling like lightning. Then the light strikes Keith, pain racing through his every atom as a pained cry is wrenched from his mouth, his whole body going tense as his muscles spasm out of his control. 

He collapses to the ground, his limbs going out from under him as electricity and pain spark through his body. His helmeted head strikes the corner of the console on the way down and he stares through bleary eyes up at the hooded form of a creature he’d never thought he would ever see again. 

The last thing he hears before his vision goes dark is Shiro’s voice in his ear, coming to him from far, far away, frantically calling his name.

*****

Keith wakes slumped on the floor below the crystal, with two Galra guards standing over him, their weapons trained on him like they expect him to attack at any moment. Between them stands the Druid who had attacked him, toying with Keith’s knife, twisting it back and forth between long, clawed fingers. The wolf is nowhere to be seen, and Keith is grateful that at least one of them got out of this mess.

Keith pushes himself upright, fighting a groan as his head throbs. There’s a warm wetness trickling out of his hair and down the side of his face that he knows is blood, and the taste of copper on his tongue from his split lip.

“Ah, nice to see you back with us, Blade Leader.” The Druid picks at one dirty claw with the point of the knife. “Your wolf abandoned you as soon as we arrived. You’re all alone.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Keith replies. He tries for nonchalant, but it comes out on a snarl. “You know, the Paladins and I killed one of your kind a few deca-phoebs back. Macidus.” 

“We had word of his death,” the Druid hisses, hands stilling on Keith’s blade.

“He thought he was the last of your kind. Kind of disappointing to find out he was wrong.” 

“Macidus was a fool. He should have waited, bided his time, as I did. The empire may have fallen, but there are many that still long for the days of its reign.” 

Keith scans the room, eyeing the Galra guards and wondering how far he would get before they shot him down. The Druid scoffs at him, as if reading his mind. “Don’t be stupid, Marmoran. You can barely stand, let alone fight off two fully armed guards. Tell me; what brings you out here to this little corner of space, sneaking aboard my ship like vermin?”

Keith ignores him, reaching to wipe away the trickle of blood making its way down the side of his face. If he can just get his knife back— but no. He feels weak like a newborn kitten, wounded, and with tingles of the Druid’s attack still sparking under his skin. He’s not sure how well he could even hold the Blade, even if he could wrestle it back from the Druid.

“Where are your little Blade friends?”

So they don’t yet know that he’s here with Atlas; that’s good news. He sniffs, turning his hand to inspect the blood on his fingers, ignoring the frustrated sound the Druid makes.

“You don’t want to talk? Fine.” The Druid waves a hand between the guards and Keith. “Get him up and take him to the Interrogation Chamber.”

The guards grasp him by the arms and yank him none too gently to his feet. He gathers what strength he has, preparing himself to fight.

Suddenly there’s a blast that rocks the entire ship under their feet. Keith stumbles into a nearby wall and falls shakily to his knees, and he jerks his head towards the sound. 

“What’s going on?” the Druid shouts. 

One of the guards speaks into his communicator, and then he says, “Sir, we’re under attack! A small fighter breached our shields and—”

Another explosion, this one much closer, then the sound of laserfire from the hall outside engineering. There are shouts in Galra and a familiar snarl coupled with a voice he recognizes. One of the guards turns, bracing his weapon against his shoulder and turning it towards the door—but it’s too late. The door explodes inwards; Keith sees the telltale flash of blue light and then there’s the wolf, bristling and slavering, and Shiro, blazing with fire in every line of his body as he storms into the room.

One of the guards loses his face to the wolf’s jaws, his scream disappearing into a gurgle of anguish as he dies. The other goes flying into the wall with a sickening crunch, helped by Shiro’s prosthetic arm. He falls to the ground and lies still.

The Druid shrieks, purple lightning crackling from his fingers, but it might as well be a flashlight for all it does to Shiro. He catches the blast on his Altean arm, the energy wrapping around it like a lasso as he surges forward, and then he’s on the Druid with all the fury of a thunderclap, his face fearsome to behold as he strikes the Druid down with his own magic. The wolf lunges too, jaws wide and teeth flashing, and it’s over before the Druid can even raise a hand.

Then Shiro is there in front of Keith, wrenching his own helmet off and skidding to his knees, fumbling to release Keith’s wrists from where they’re bound behind his back. “Keith, are you alright?” he asks urgently. “You’re bleeding. Keith, talk to me!”

“I’m okay,” he says, though he feels a little worse for wear. Blood still trickles out of his hair, staining his cheek on the way down. “It’s not too bad.” Dimly, Keith registers the wolf planting himself behind Shiro, tail swishing slowly and gaze trained on the door. Guarding them, he realizes. “How did you—?”

“The wolf,” Shiro said. “He came to get me. I crashed your ship—sorry.” 

Keith laughs weakly. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think you have anything to apologize for.”

Shiro makes a choked sound, and then surprises Keith by cupping his face with a shocking gentleness between his hands, one warm through his glove, the other smooth metal and polymer and cool against Keith’s skin. Keith looks up, shocked, to see Shiro’s eyes shutter closed, and Shiro tips his head until their foreheads touch.

Keith reaches up to curl his hand around Shiro’s left wrist, the other still occupied with bracing himself upright. “Shiro, I’m okay, now. You saved me.”

Shiro nods, but he doesn’t pull away, just presses in closer, his eyes squeezed tight. When he finally draws back he doesn’t go far, and he doesn’t pull back his hands from where they’re cradling Keith’s face. He manages a shaky smile.

“As many times as it takes, right?”

Keith feels himself smile, feels it in the pull of his wound and the way the shape of Shiro’s hands changes on his skin. He can’t look away from Shiro now; their eyes locked together and impossible to let go. “Right.”

Shiro’s eyes drop, watching his mouth form the words. His breath breaks raggedly from his lips and Keith feels the brush of air against his mouth. He feels his lips part of their own accord; he’s spent so long telling himself he can’t have this, of holding himself static, of tensing himself to pull away when he wants to lean in.

But this time, whether it’s Shiro’s proximity, or the adrenaline hammering through him, or the fierce, burning fire in Shiro’s eyes, Keith’s leaning in before he can send a signal to his traitorous body that he shouldn’t. He thinks that Shiro moves in too.

Their mouths meet around a gasp, and it’s a mess from the very start. Keith can taste his own blood from his split lip, the salt of Shiro’s sweat. Shiro’s arms are around him so fast he doesn’t know how it happened, and he curls his free hand around Shiro’s neck, holding on for dear life. He can’t believe this is happening; Shiro is kissing him and he’s kissing Shiro, and he never wants it to stop. Shiro sucks on his lip, nipping with his teeth and Keith groans, pulling him in tighter and opening his mouth until their tongues meet between them.

“—guys? _Guys_!!”

Shiro jumps back with a start, Lance’s voice tinny and distant though Shiro’s helmet comms shocking them out of their embrace. Together they stare over to where Shiro had dumped his helmet, and Shiro looks back at Keith with a frustrated expression before he goes to retrieve it, shoving it back onto his head.

“We’re here, I’ve got Keith.” He smiles at Keith helplessly and Keith can’t keep the smile off his own face.

“You ready for evac? We’re under heavy fire and we need you to make this ship do the robot thing!”

Keith’s brow furrows. “You brought the Atlas into the blockade?”

Shiro’s smile is wry. “We didn’t have much of a choice, Keith. We weren’t going to let them take you and we knew that the jig would be up as soon as I came in for you. We needed all the firepower we could get.”

Shiro holds out a hand that Keith takes, letting Shiro hoist him to his feet. He lets himself lean just a little into the arm that coils around his waist to steady him.

“We’re ready, Atlas. See you in a few.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8 seasons and 20 thousand words to get here and it's about fucking time o k
> 
> i love all your comments so much and thank you so much for reading!!! come yell at me on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino) if you want! XO


	5. Ex Machina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> peep them new tags [eyeball emoji]
> 
> this was my favorite chapter to write and it's dedicated to all of you reading this. thank you for all your incredible comments, for all your kudos, and for reccing my little fic. you are keeping me going and i can't tell you how much your comments etc inspire me and motivate me to keep going. <3

Their feet touch down outside the bridge of the Atlas, the flash of blue from the wolf’s power fading into sparkles of light as they materialize. Shiro tries valiantly to usher Keith back to his quarters or to medical but Keith just scowls at him, already moving towards the doors to the bridge.

“I’m _fine_ , Shiro, I have to help. Give me a job; I can work the weapons or something!”

Shiro shakes his head with a mixture of exasperation and fondness. “Fine.” He looks up as the Atlas takes another hit to its particle barrier, the entire ship rumbling beneath their feet with the force. “Let’s go.”

When they stumble back aboard the bridge, Hunk grins weakly over at them from where he’s clinging gamely to his chair. “Welcome back, guys! Glad to see Shiro got you out alright, Keith!”

“Thanks, Hunk,” Keith says, and staggers towards the helm. “Where are the guns on this thing?” He tumbles into a seat opposite Lance, with Coran between them, scanning the console in front of him. He curls his fingers around the stick, squeezing the trigger, and he smiles grimly when bright blue light lances forward from the ship to clip the aft wing of a Galra fighter. The ship spirals wildly off course, crashing into one of its cohorts and both of them disappearing in the resulting explosion.

“Hang on to something,” Shiro says. “Beginning Atlas transformation sequence.”

“You’ve never seen this first hand before, have you?” Coran asks, casting a knowing sidelong smile at Keith. “You’re going to want to watch this.”

And Keith gets a front row seat to Shiro’s eyes glowing with the same blue as the shoulder port of his prosthetic, the same blue that races through the Atlas’ circuits around them like lifeblood. The raw power emanating from Shiro as the ship transforms around them is palpable; it makes the hair stand up on the back of Keith’s neck, a shiver gathering at the base of his spine. Keith’s chest grows tight and heat floods his whole body as he shudders with awe, and he has to force his gaze away and to the weapons controls under his hands. His mouth still tingles with the ferocity of Shiro’s kiss; Keith wants desperately to kiss him again.

There’s the dizzying sense of motion he knows from when they used to form Voltron, and when the transformation is complete, he finds himself staring out of the Atlas’ eyes at the ships around them. His hands tighten on his controls and he swings them up, watching as Atlas’ right arm comes up to fire a blast at the cruiser from its wrist cannon. A chain of explosions trickles along the side of the ship and it lists to the side as he laughs incredulously.

“What the hell, Shiro!” He shoots a grin over his shoulder and finds Shiro grinning fiercely back. “Your ship is fucking badass.”

“You’ve seen it transform before.”

“But not from _inside_ ,” Lance pipes up as he reaches the left hand up to swat a squadron of fighters that wheels on them. They burst into flames against Atlas’ palm like a fistful of fire and Lance crows his triumph.

“Stay focused,” Shiro says but he doesn’t stop smiling. “We need to get out of here. We might be a match for this ship and its fleet, but if those other cruisers round on us we might be in trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” Keith shoots back at him as he wheels back towards the viewscreen, Shiro’s answering laugh washing over him like a physical touch. 

He can feel Shiro in every discharge of the weapons, in every swipe of Atlas’ huge arms. Weapons blasts from the Galra wash over them like water, fighters wheeling and burning and exploding around them like fireworks. The cruiser is badly damaged but still fighting, and Keith spots the gathering swell of purple light at the helm just as Pidge yelps, “They’re powering up the Zaiforge cannon!” 

“Brace for impact!”

Shiro twists the Atlas and it manages to dodge so the cannon blast connects with the left shoulder instead of head on. Atlas rocks with the force of the blast, forcing them backwards.

“Let’s give it right back. Ion discharger!” Shiro yells. 

Coran punches something on his console and a massive blast issues from the center of Atlas’ chest, decimating everything in its wake. The cruiser explodes in a dazzling cascade of light, taking out a stream of fighters with it.

Lance and Pidge break into cheers, Hunk joining them weakly. Keith grins along with them as the remnants of the cruiser flicker and go dark.

“Coran,” Shiro barks, “get us out of here. Before the rest of those ships have a chance to round on us.”

“Yes, Captain!”

Atlas turns, driving off a squadron of fighters with a blast of the left wrist cannon, sweeping the remaining fighters aside with the other hand like gnats. A wormhole spirals into existence ahead of them and Atlas leaps forward into it. The portal winks closed, the rest of the blockade disappearing as they rocket away from the fray. 

*****

They pull back to regroup and to lick their wounds, to figure out how they’re going to get past the blockade and into the nebula. Shiro transforms Atlas back to its ship form again and they set down in the shadowed crater of a nearby moon to watch and to wait.

Pidge, Hunk, and Coran bury themselves in calculations and diagrams and holographic trajectories, their arguing growing increasingly louder and more fervent until Shiro yells at them to get some rest and tackle it after some sleep. Hunk gives in first, followed by Coran, but Pidge is still theorizing at anyone who will listen as Shiro takes her by the shoulders and guides her out the door and off the bridge. The door hisses shut behind them, cutting Pidge’s voice off mid-word.

Keith chuckles, finding himself alone on the bridge with Lance. Lance eyes him from his chair across the bridge, cocking one sardonic eyebrow when Keith doesn’t look away.

“So, uh,” Keith tries. “How’re you holding up?”

Lance’s other eyebrow slides up to join its mate, both threatening to disappear into his scruffy brown hair. “Are you trying to _feelings_ me?”

Keith rolls his eyes. “No, I’m just asking.”

Lance shakes his head in mock disbelief. “Who ever thought I’d see the day: Emo Mullet asking me how I’m doing. Gotta say, it’s a weird look on you, man.”

“Ugh, whatever.” Keith shoves himself to his feet, making for the door, when he’s interrupted by Lance’s laugh.

“Dude, I’m just messing with you. I appreciate the concern. Really.”

Keith stops, turns to face him, arching his own eyebrow in question. Lance sighs, scuffing one booted foot against the polished floor.

“I’m—well I’m wondering how we’re going to get past all those hostiles, first of all, but I’ll leave that one to you and Shiro.” He frowns, ticking the list off on his fingers as he goes. “We all know I’m not the tactician. And as for getting _in_ to the nebula, well, I’ll leave that one to Pidge. And Hunk and Coran too, I guess, since it probably involves Engineering mumbo-jumbo, and Altean mumbo-jumbo, and all sorts of other shit I don’t understand.”

He sighs, and when he looks up to meet Keith’s eyes, his own are wide and sad. “And I’m. Well I’m scared we’re not going to be able to get her back. After all of this, what if we can’t save her? I need her, Keith. I can’t be without her.”

Keith swallows. He flicks an involuntary glance towards the door, behind which Shiro had disappeared only moments earlier. He thinks he understands what Lance means.

“We’ll get her back,” Keith says. “There’s no one better in the entire Universe for a task like this. We’re a team, and a family, and no one loves Allura more than the six of us. You have to trust us, trust this team. I do.”

Lance nods, once, then again, more firmly. “You’re right. Thanks buddy.”

Keith smiles, the corner of his mouth turning up. “Anytime.”

He turns to go, but Lance stops him. “Hey Keith?”

Keith looks over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“You, uh. You might want to call your mom.”

“What?”

Lance gives a full body wince, ducking his head. “Look, don’t like. Punch me or whatever, alright? When you were captured, we might have called the Blades for backup and…”

Keith grits his teeth. “You called my _mom_? What are we, twelve?!”

Lance throws up his hands. “Hey, it’s not like you wet the bed at a sleepover or something! We were under heavy fire! You were captured! What were we supposed to do?”

“Ugh.” Keith rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll take care of it. Just… get some rest, huh?”

“Sure thing, Team Leader.”

The door shushes shut behind Keith and he finds the hallway empty. His footsteps echo hollowly as he makes his way towards his room. He sighs, prodding gingerly at the wound in his head, longing suddenly for the comfort of his mattress and a few vargas rest before they have to try to tackle a fleet of enemies and the nebula and whatever it holds.

The wolf greets him from the bed, his huge tail swishing back and forth as he nudges under Keith’s outstretched hand. “Thanks for bringing Shiro,” he says, gingerly lowering himself down to the bed beside him. “You’re a good friend.”

The wolf huffs and lays his head on Keith’s thigh, and Keith can’t be bothered to dislodge him. He stretches to pick up his datapad from the bedside table, opening a hailing frequency to Krolia’s ship. After a lengthy debrief, she finally accepts that he’s fine and that they’re safe for the time being, but assures him the Blades are en route to their location. She promises to see him soon, leaving him with the kind of soft smile she seems to reserve for him as she disconnects the call.

He sends her the exact coordinates of their hideout, then sets aside the datapad with a groan. He only has time to strip off the outer layer of his uniform before there’s a firm rap at his door. He recognizes the cadence, feels his heart speed up with it, and is unsurprised to find Shiro on the other side.

“Hey,” Keith says and he feels himself flush, bites the inside of his cheek against the smile that threatens to spread across his face.

“Hey,” Shiro replies, and he holds up his hands to display an assortment of ointments and bandages and gauzes. Keith has to fight his smile even harder when he notices the pink flush spreading across the scarred bridge of Shiro’s nose, the high arch of his cheekbones. “Thought I could help patch you up?”

“I’m fine, Shiro,” Keith says, but he steps aside to admit him anyway. “I’ve survived a hell of a lot worse than a couple bumps and bruises.”

“You forgot being electrocuted by magical lightning.” Shiro grimaces. “Just—let me do this, okay?”

Keith rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling, and he settles next to Shiro on the bed, shooing the wolf onto the floor. The wolf grumbles low in his throat, shooting Keith a truly judgemental look as he goes, then winks out of the room with a flash of blue light.

Shiro blinks. “Where did he go?”

“Probably to see if he can get Hunk to feed him again.” Keith holds still as Shiro reaches to brush his bangs out of the way to examine him, fighting a shiver at the way Shiro’s prosthetic fingertips graze his skin. “He’s got the entire team wrapped around his paw.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised. Remember how everyone doted on Kaltenecker and the Space Mice?”

Keith chuckles. “How could I forget?”

Shiro tears open an antiseptic wipe, dabbing it gently against the cut in Keith’s forehead. He brings up his left hand, hesitating before he reaches to touch the angle of Keith’s jaw to steady him. The contact lights him up under his skin, and Keith closes his eyes, tipping his head up to grant Shiro easier access.

“This is going to bruise,” Shiro says, and the way his voice has gone low and rough makes something tighten in the pit of Keith’s stomach. He swallows, forcing himself still, hands fisting in the sheets on either side of his own legs.

“Yeah.”

The room falls silent and all Keith can hear is his own breathing. His senses narrow down to the soft swipe of the gauze over his forehead, the brush of Shiro’s fingers over his skin, through his hair. He remembers Shiro’s arms around him, the frantic press of his mouth, the harsh intake of his breath from when they’d kissed aboard the Galra ship, and he _wants_ , more than he ever has before, and after all this time he likes to think he’s an expert in wanting Shiro. He’s hyper-aware of Shiro’s proximity, sitting mere inches from him on the bed, his fingers painfully gentle on Keith’s face, and he suddenly realizes with a shock that Shiro is trembling.

His eyes snap open, his brow furrowing. “Shiro? What’s wrong?”

Shiro doesn’t answer right away, focused as he is on dabbing some kind of antiseptic onto Keith’s skin with shaking fingers. He finishes his task, focusing with too critical an eye as he wipes the last bit of dried blood from Keith’s skin. “Nothing’s wrong. Why do you ask?”

Keith catches his wrist as he moves to pull back. “Shiro.”

Shiro sighs. “Never could get anything by you.”

“I know you well enough by now,” Keith retorts. “Don’t change the subject.” He doesn’t let go of Shiro and he steels himself to stroke a tentative thumb over the veins and tendons where they stand out in his wrist.

Shiro’s breath catches and he twists his hand, not to get away, but to curl his fingers around Keith’s. “Okay. I guess I’m worried about what happened on the cruiser earlier.”

“What happened on the—?” Keith breaks off, frowning. “You mean the kiss?”

Shiro’s blush is lovely, his eyelashes long and white where they cast a shadow over his cheek as he looks down at their clasped hands. “Yeah, the—the kiss.”

“What about it?”

“I just don’t want you to think… that you have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Keith blinks. “What?”

Shiro finally looks up to meet his gaze. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to do anything with me. I know you don’t feel the same way as I do—”

“Wait.” Keith’s fingers tighten around Shiro’s. “What do you mean, I don’t feel the same way as you?”

“You know.” Shiro shrugs miserably. “ _Romantically_. I know you see me as a brother, and I didn’t mean to push you into anything else. I don’t need anything more; honestly I’m just glad to be able to spend time with you as friends. I wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that.”

He looks up at Keith, who is actively gaping, his mouth open. His eyes are wide and plaintive. “Can we just—pretend it never happened?”

 _What_? Keith snaps his mouth closed. “No.”

“No?”

“No!”

Keith throws himself up from the bed, running incredulous hands through his hair. He can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up, and when he turns back towards the bed, Shiro is staring up at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated bewilderment written across his face.

“Shiro,” Keith says, his words curving around a smile, the word _romantically_ tumbling around in his head. “I think you need to shut up for a minute.”

And he crosses back to Shiro in two quick strides, takes Shiro’s face between his hands, and kisses him.

Shiro is so shocked that he doesn't kiss back, just stares back at Keith, eyes wide, his whole body frozen. Keith kisses him once, twice, then pulls back to look at him.

"Keith," Shiro breathes, when he finds his voice again. "What—"

"Shiro. I love you." Keith smiles, lets his thumbs skate, shaking, over the arch of Shiro's cheek. " _Romantically_."

Shiro's breath catches, and his eyes widen, his mouth beginning to turn up in a tentative smile. "You do?"

Keith nods fervently, his grin threatening to overtake his entire face. "Yes."

Shiro's expression brightens and it's like the sun breaking through the clouds. He stretches up to meet Keith, his hands curving around Keith's wrists, and this time, when Keith kisses him, he kisses back. He's still shaking, but he's smiling into the kiss, and he tastes like joy.

"I love you too, Keith," he says, between the soft, hungry meet of their mouths. The words light Keith up from the inside, starting a fire under his skin and low in his belly. He knows his face is flushed and his expression must be too moony, too open, but for once he doesn’t care. "That's why it didn't work with—why it didn't work out on earth. It's not what I wanted, or who I wanted to be with. I tried but it just wasn’t right. If I'd known you felt the same—"

Of course. It's just like Shiro to try to take the blame for this. "Shh," Keith says. "That doesn't matter anymore. Just kiss me."

Shiro smiles, and he moves to curl his Altean arm around Keith's waist, the metal and polymer cool and smooth against Keith's skin through his suit. Keith is bigger now than he was, but Shiro's arm is bigger too, and it wraps almost all the way around him as he pulls Keith to him, gently guides him down into another kiss.

This time, the kiss is slow. Keith can taste Shiro’s smile and he presses closer to feel the warmth of Shiro’s body through his clothes. Shiro responds by curling his arm tighter around him, until Keith is scrambling into Shiro’s lap, desperate to be as close as can be. Shiro’s stifled groan sends sparks flickering over Keith’s skin and he presses closer, closer, until Shiro is tilting backwards onto his back on the bed, pulling Keith with him.

“Wow,” Shiro says, when Keith presses him into the bed. He tilts his head back when Keith ducks under the hard line of his sculpted jaw, baring his throat for Keith’s mouth. “Keith.”

“What,” Keith mumbles between kisses, trailing his mouth over the taut line of Shiro’s throat, nipping hungrily at his pulse.

“We don’t need to—we have time, you know.”

His left hand skates up Keith’s back, up into the loose strands of his hair that have slipped from his ragged braid, then down to cup his cheek. Keith pulls back at his insistence, rising up on his elbows to look down at Shiro.

“Shiro—” he says, then stops, has to struggle to breathe. Because Shiro is staring up at him with such honest, open admiration in his gaze, such fondness that it steals the air right out of his lungs. He presses his forehead to Shiro’s collarbone. “Do you want to stop?”

Shiro laughs breathlessly. “Keith, of course I don’t want to stop. I love you. I want you.” He says it so _easily_ , and Keith forces himself to look up, to meet the huge, towering feeling in his eyes.

He swallows hard and he feels a prickling behind his own eyes. He fights back the tears, but Shiro must see them anyway, because his expression grows concerned, and his thumb strokes softly over Keith’s cheek.

“Keith?”

“Shiro, I’ve wanted for so long to touch you like this, to be with you like this.” He bends to kiss him fiercely, making sure to pour all his years of longing into it so Shiro will know for absolutely certain just how much he means it. Later he will tell Shiro how his grudging teenaged admiration of his mentor had grown into a crush before Shiro had even left for Kerberos. He will tell Shiro that his adolescent crush would become his first love, and that love would persist through everything they went through, both together and apart, and he would always, _always_ , come back to Shiro.

For now, he pulls back just far enough to whisper, soft and ragged, against Shiro’s mouth, “I have loved you for so long.”

And Shiro gasps, his eyes suddenly glassy with moisture, and he surges up from the bed to catch Keith’s mouth again. He doesn’t hold back this time, his teeth grazing Keith’s lower lip, tongue sweeping in to slide against Keith’s, and Keith is clumsy and inexperienced but he does his best to give as good as he gets, matching the movements of Shiro’s mouth with his own. He wants to dissolve into Shiro, to press so close that there is no space between their very atoms, and as he presses down into him, he feels the hard planes of Shiro’s hard chest, his strong arms, the roll of his hips rising to meet Keith’s when he rocks down into him.

The little room is filled with the sound of their breath and their lips meeting, the slow creak of the bed beneath them as Shiro gently rolls them over so Keith is under him. His hand cradles Keith’s cheek like he’s precious, like he never wants to let go, and Keith curls his arms around Shiro’s shoulders, one hand sliding into the soft strands of his hair and the other tangling in the fabric of his t-shirt, but only for a moment. He can’t keep still, greedy for all of Shiro, and his hands skate restlessly over him, touching him everywhere, until his thumbs tuck under the hem on Shiro’s shirt, finding the warm, soft skin of his lower back.

Shiro stills above him, pulling back just slightly to look down at him. Keith’s mouth feels slick and kiss-bitten, and he knows he must look as debauched as Shiro does.

“Can I—?” he asks, flushing, and he moves the fingers of one hand hesitantly in demonstration, skating the fingers over Shiro’s skin, higher up his back.

Shiro nods, then disentangles his Altean hand from around Keith enough that he can grasp the back of his own collar and pull. He yanks the shirt over his own head, and Keith can’t decide if he wants to laugh at the mess Shiro makes of his own hair, to gape at the miles of bare skin and toned muscles now bared to him, or surge up to press himself against them.

Shiro grins at the indecision on his face. “You too?” he says, giving a little tug on the fabric of Keith’s suit, making it a question, and Keith appreciates the care Shiro is showing him. He does. It’s just not even remotely necessary, given how long he’s wanted to do this with Shiro, how often he’s thought about it and wished for it, never thinking it would ever, ever happen.

He nods frantically, reaching hastily for the fastenings of his own suit. Shiro hauls him to a sitting position and helps him, his tech hand deft despite its size, and then the suit is pressed down around Keith’s waist and Shiro is looking at him with such naked hunger in his eyes that Keith has to fight the shiver that races through him.

“You’re beautiful,” Shiro whispers reverently.

“Shiro,” Keith protests, embarrassed. Keith understands that people sometimes think he’s attractive, though he doesn’t see what the fuss is about. But when he meets Shiro’s gaze and sees the truth there, he knows that Shiro really believes it, and Keith would believe Shiro if he told him the earth was flat.

“You are.”

Keith looks away, flushing and biting his lip against a smile, to trail his eyes down Shiro’s sculpted chest and stomach. Lines of old wounds criss-cross his torso, but if anything they only make him more beautiful; the marks of all he’s been through, and his strength through it all. He traces the line of a scar gently with his fingers, feels the way Shiro shivers under the touch.

“So are you,” Keith replies, and then he rises up to kiss Shiro again, curling his arms around Shiro’s neck and pressing closer, closer. Shiro’s bare skin is hot against his, his arms—one warm and the other cool and smooth—solid and secure around his waist. “I want to touch you. All over. Can I?”

Shiro’s breath catches. “Yes.”

He pulls back enough to shuck his own pants, then after a pause, his underwear too. Keith scrambles out of the remnants of his suit, and then they’re kneeling on the bed, face to face, completely naked. He drinks in Shiro, the hard lines of his body, the pink flush over his chest, the swelling length of his cock between his legs.

Keith lets himself look, and when he looks up to meet Shiro’s eyes, there is hunger and love there that he knows matches his own.

Shiro smiles, and he stretches out a hand. “Come here.”

And Keith goes, lunging forward to meet Shiro’s mouth with his own.

They press together, Shiro pulling Keith close into his lap until there’s no space left between them, just warm skin to warm skin. Shiro’s hands skate up his thighs, graze the muscle of his ass, span the width of his waist before trailing up to his back. They kiss and kiss, Shiro’s tongue slick in his mouth and Keith’s teeth grazing on Shiro’s lip, the heat growing between them as they rock into each other. Their erections press together between them, trapped between their bodies, and when Keith gives a little involuntary roll of his hips, Shiro gasps into his mouth.

Their kisses turn fierce and heated. Keith can’t seem to stop the little sounds that escape him, and Shiro seems to like them, too. His voice when he says Keith’s name is low and ragged, and Keith whispers his back, rocking down into Shiro’s lap.

Shiro gets a hand between them, strong fingers curling around them both. The heat in the pit of Keith’s stomach arrows down to the point where Shiro touches them, where his thick length moves against Keith’s own, and he pushes up into Shiro’s grip, pressing himself closer, wanting to drown in Shiro. He breaks away from Shiro’s mouth, wrenching his eyes closed, and he buries his face in Shiro’s collarbone, fighting desperately for control.

But—“You can let go, Keith,” Shiro says. “I’ve got you. Come for me.” He turns his face into Keith’s hair, his breath hot, and he lays a kiss to Keith’s temple that breaks him.

He comes with a broken gasp between them, the heat exploding outwards over his skin as he clutches desperately to Shiro’s shoulders. He’s the only thing keeping Keith upright; has always been that. Shiro works him through it, and he goes to move his hand, to stop the motion but Keith shoves his own hand between them to close around Shiro’s cock, and he works him ferociously until Shiro comes too, with a low groan of Keith’s name.

When Shiro has caught his breath, he looks up at Keith reverently. His tech fingers brush aside the sweaty strands of Keith’s hair and he just—looks at him.

“Will you stay?” Keith blurts, his eyes falling to the graceful line of Shiro’s collarbone. He skates a finger over the bone, and when he looks up, Shiro’s expression is moony, wide open with an affection that Keith wants to kiss off his face.

“Of course.”

They stumble on shaky legs to the tiny bathroom to clean up, and Keith doesn’t stop himself from peeking at Shiro in the stark bluish light. He catches Shiro doing the same to him, and they chase each other, laughing, back to the bed, where Shiro coils around Keith, pressing kisses to the space behind his ear, his cheek, and finally his mouth, when Keith twists to meet him.

“I can’t believe I’m here with you,” Shiro whispers, low, in Keith’s ear.

Keith chuckles sleepily. “Me either.”

He feels more than sees Shiro’s smile where his mouth presses against his skin. “I tried to move on from you, you know. I never thought you would feel the same way, so I tried to let you go.” His voice turns rueful when he adds, “It didn’t really work out. You were the one I could never get over.”

Keith catches his hand, folding their fingers together against his chest. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want this. I just didn’t want to ruin our friendship. It’s the most important thing in the Universe to me.”

Shiro presses his forehead to the knob at the base of Keith’s spine. His breath is shaky but warm on Keith’s bare skin. “Me too, Keith. I meant what I said before—I would have been happy just to have you in my life. But I’m glad we’re here now.”

Keith smiles, and closes his eyes. “Me too.”

They fall asleep tangled together, and when Keith wakes in the middle of the night, it’s to Shiro pressing hot, wet kisses to the back of his neck, rocking his erection against Keith’s ass. They get off like that, moving together with slow heat under the blankets, and after, Keith will wonder sleepily at the thought that he might get to have this, like he never dared to dream before.

*****

The Atlas’ proximity alarms startle them awake again after only a few vargas, orange lighting flashing in Keith’s room and driving him out of bed and away from Shiro’s warmth with an involuntary snarl. His blade is in his hand before he has a chance to think, his heart pounding in his chest. Shiro is out of bed too, stumbling to the communicator on the wall.

“Coran! What’s going on?”

“Shiro! We’re under attack! The rebel ships found us!”

Keith is already tugging his undersuit into place when Shiro scoops his pants off the floor. “Everyone to the bridge,” Shiro barks and he doesn’t even wait to get his shirt on before he’s running out the door, tugging it on as he runs, instead.

“Wait, Shiro!”

Shiro stops, and his words die on his lips when the wolf appears in a flash at Keith’s side.

Keith reaches out a hand for the wolf, the other beckoning to Shiro, and Shiro laughs incredulously.

"That's handy," he says, grinning as he reaches out, and Keith snatches his hand in his.

The wolf ports them directly to the bridge, and Coran whirls around in his chair with a start when they appear.

"Quiznak!" He curses, clutching his chest. "I forgot you were on board, Kosmo!"

"What's going on, Coran," Keith asks. He pulls away from Shiro, running to the helm as Shiro takes his place at the Captain’s station. The door slides open to admit Pidge, Hunk, and Lance, all three of them skittering up to stand around Coran.

Flashes of light spark against the orange hexagons that form the particle barrier, holding strong for now. Three ships and more fighters than Keith can count fill the viewscreen, weapons discharging at intervals.

“What’s the Blades’ ETA?”

“They’re still at least a varga out!” Pidge yells from her station, fingers flying as she calculates trajectories.

“Get them here faster,” Keith says, and she nods, turning to open a hailing frequency. "We have to get out of here.”

"Where are we going to go?" Lance yells. "We still haven't figured out how to get into the nebula!"

"We don't have a choice now," Shiro says. "We can't wormhole with those ships so close we won’t be able to hold off all these fighters alone. We have to get inside the nebula. We know the loyalists haven't figured out how to get in either; that's our only chance."

Keith turns to Pidge where she's staring at him, wide-eyed. "You have until we get back to the nebula to figure it out," he says grimly. "You got this."

Pidge shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose, and nods sharply, turning back to her messy station and sweeping it clear. 

"Hunk, you help her. Lance, you and I are on guns." Keith looks over at Shiro and nods sharply as the three of them scatter to their stations.

Shiro tilts his chin up, that now familiar expression of command settling over his handsome features. "Coran, get us out of here."

The engines start up, rumbling to life beneath them. It's far from the steady takeoff this ship was designed for, the ship rocking with the impact of enemy guns as it blasts off the surface, but Coran gets them up and away from the moon. Keith keeps his eyes trained on the console in front of him, punching the controls and firing at the enemy ships through the particle barrier as they make a run for it. Shiro's eyes are fixed ahead of them, and he spreads his hands wide to commune with the ship, that bright blue glow starting behind his eyes as Atlas picks up speed.

"Lance, you got one on your three!" Keith grits his teeth, swinging away to fire on the stream of fighters chasing after Atlas as they struggle through.

"Got it, thanks, Keith!"

Atlas explodes through the enemy ships like a battering ram, the remaining ships wheeling to follow in a deadly swarm. Ahead, growing rapidly closer, the line of Galra cruisers hovers between them and the nebula, waiting. 

"There's the blockade," Lance calls.

"Don’t slow down. We're going straight through," Shiro says, his teeth gritted and his eyes hard. “Let’s see them try and stop us.”

Keith fires blast after blast, and Coran guides them along with Shiro, crashing them through the cluster of rebel ships until they're past the blockade, face to face with Allura's nebula once more.

“Pidge, any ideas?”

“We can’t get in,” Pidge says tersely, her jaw tight where she’s bracing against the onslaught of enemy fire. “I’m sorry, guys, I tried every calculation, every scenario I could think of. If we had Voltron—the trans-reality ore would be able to penetrate it, but short of that, the only thing that’s getting through that field is a _huge_ expulsion of energy.”

“Where are we going to get something that big?”

“The Atlas’ cannons? The ion discharger?”

“No, that won’t be enough—”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Hunk interrupts. “If we jettison one of the energy cannons—we could manually overload the powercore of one of them, and fly it straight for the field. Then if we fire the ion discharger at it at the same time we overload the powercore, right against the barrier, that might cause a big enough energy burst that we could break through.”

Pidge makes an impatient sound in the back of her throat. “Okay, but we don’t have the ability to set off something like that remotely!” 

“Well yeah,” Hunk says solemnly, and he swallows. “Someone would have to set it off. In person. On the ship.”

Lance whirls around, gaping at him. “But that’s… Hunk, that’s suicide!”

Hunk swallows. “I guess. But we gotta get out of here somehow, or we’re _all_ gonna die, and Allura will still be gone.”

The rest of the team break out in protests but Keith speaks up, his voice cutting through them all. “No way. We’re not doing that. That’s what got us in this mess in the first place; we should’ve never let Allura do that alone, and we’re not going to do it again now. We’re a team. All of us, together. Each and every one of us matters, and we all have our own strength, but we’re stronger together, and none of us is going to do it alone. We’re doing this together, or not at all.”

The comms go silent and then Shiro says, so quiet, and so warm, “That’s the Keith I remember.”

“You’re right,” Lance says. “You’re right, we gotta stick together. So what do we do, Team Leader?”

Keith opens his mouth to reply, but he doesn’t get the words out. Because there’s a sudden sound in the back of his mind, a low rumble that grows until it’s all he can hear, his ears ringing with it. He feels it in his bones like the booming of thunder or a passing train, like a heartbeat, a growl that grows into a roar.

His vision blanks out with yellow light and he feels a presence in the back of his mind that he hasn’t felt in five deca-phoebs.

“Did everyone else feel that?”

“Was that—”

Keith throws himself out of his chair, stumbling to where Coran is frozen at the helm, his lips parted in shock, eyes wide and shining wet. The Galra ships are scattering, retreating to a safe distance—to watch and wait or to regroup he can't tell. He feels Shiro come up behind him, feels the Altean hand grip his shoulder for support— whether his or Shiro’s own he doesn’t know—and his heart pounds so loud in his ears that he barely hears the other three Paladins skid up behind them.

He stares out the viewscreen, looking out at a sight he thought he’d never see again.

“It’s them,” Pidge says, and her voice cracks on the way out. “They came back.”

Before them the five Lions—Blue, Red, Black, Green, and Yellow—open their mouths and roar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love you all <3
> 
> im on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino).
> 
> 04/03/19: ETA - I'M SO SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT, but chapter 6 will be up on April 8! thank you sooo much for your support and patience xoxoxo


	6. The White Paladin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra thanks to my beta Meg this week for helping me work through my issues with this chapter. It took me a long time to work out how it needed to go, and I got there because of her. EVERYONE SAY THANK YOU MEG
> 
> And thank you all so much for your patience; I hope it will be worth the wait <3

“ _WHOOOHOOOOOOOOOOO_!”

Lance’s crowing is loud and jubilant, crystal clear through the comms and inside Keith’s head through their connection to the Lions. He’s echoed by Pidge’s whoops and yips of glee and Hunk’s giddy, incredulous laughter, and Keith wants to be annoyed at his fellow Paladins but he just can’t. Because they’re back in the Lions, and they’re together, and it feels like coming home.

He only realizes he’s grinning when he hears Shiro’s low chuckle and he twists to meet his gaze where Shiro is hovering over his shoulder. Shiro’s eyes light up with challenge and Keith just grins wider, and then he’s twisting his body and leaning into Black’s controls, his stomach swooping gleefully as he throws them into an ecstatic dive, looping Black around the other Lions and back again, batting at Red’s tail to send Lance spinning as he passes.

“Hey!”

Keith ignores Lance’s indignant shout; he’s too busy tipping his head back to look at Shiro, leaning into the hand Shiro curls around his shoulder. Keith hesitates, then stretches up a little towards him.

Shiro’s eyes go wide, and then he’s leaning down to find Keith’s mouth with his own, a soft, almost casual kiss that lights up Keith’s insides with slow, curling warmth. He smiles into the kiss, feels Shiro’s lips curve up too, until they have to break apart.

“Alright,” Keith says, still smiling as he turns back to his controls. “That’s enough messing around, Paladins.”

“Look who’s talking!” Lance barks back at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Form up, everyone. We have a job to do. Let’s go get Allura back.”

Keith punches some buttons on Black’s console, pulling up the scans of the nebula Pidge had uploaded to the Lions’ computers. The Paladin suit flexes with his movement, the purple light of Black’s interface glowing along the white surface of the armor. It still fits him like a second skin, comfortable and safe and familiar. Around them, there’s the purr of Black’s engines, Shiro at his left and the wolf at his right, his friends falling into formation around him like the head of an arrow.

“Guys,” Pidge yelps. “They’re coming back! The Galra ships!”

Ahead of them, the cruisers are closing in, moving to block their path to the nebula and spewing fighters like a swarm. The purple beam of a cannon launches from one of the ships and Keith has to veer sharply to the port side to avoid it. He returns fire with a blast from the Black Lion’s mouth, taking out a swathe of fighters and blowing a hole in the cruiser’s fore.

Behind him, Shiro curses. “Guess it was too much to hope that the Lions scared them off for good.”

“They’re not stopping us from getting in that nebula,” Keith says grimly. “Stay on target!”

“What about the Atlas?” Coran cries out.

“The shields will hold for a while,” Shiro says tersely. “Hopefully they’ll be drawn off by the Lions. But this is more important than Garrison property.”

“Wait!” Pidge interrupts. “We have an incoming transmission!” Keith turns to his comms and the screen flickers to life; his face cracks into a grin when he sees his mother’s face smiling toothily at him.

“Mom!” He spins the Black Lion around, turning it to face Atlas, where his mother’s ship and several others are circling like an honor guard. 

“Keith,” Krolia says, and the fierce grin on her mouth echoes Keith’s own. “It’s nice to see you all back where you belong.”

He lets out a helpless laugh, fighting the urge to look at Shiro over his shoulder. “Yeah.”

“That’s some great timing you have there, Krolia,” Shiro says, leaning in low over Keith’s shoulder.

“Didn’t want you to have all the fun. Besides, it sounded like you needed the help.” Her eyes flick up to her viewscreen, her brow setting with a familiar determination. “You and the other Paladins get into that nebula. We’ll hold off the loyalist ships until you get back,” Krolia says firmly, her tone brooking no argument. 

“Thanks,” Keith says. “Be careful.”

Her face goes soft. “You too.”

The image flickers and disappears. 

“Alright Paladins. The Blades will hold down the fort while we go after Allura. Remember the plan,” Keith says, zooming in on the nebula. “Stay in tight formation on me. We’ll hit the nebula together.”

“We’re not going to be vaporized right?” Hunk’s voice is quick with its characteristic nervousness. “Pidge? We’re not going to vaporize? I really don’t want to be vaporized.”

“We’re not going to vaporize. Based on my calculations, the trans-reality ore that the Lions are made of should be able to penetrate the barrier due to the—”

“Yeah, thanks Pidge, we get it,” Lance interrupts. “We’re not going to blow up. Let’s get this show on the road!”

“Excited, Lance?” Shiro asks, his voice soft. The rest of the Paladins fall silent, waiting.

Lance hesitates. “I’m excited, yeah. But I’m worried and nervous, too. What if we don’t find her? What if we can’t get her back? What if our dreams were just dreams?”

“We’ll get her back, Lance,” Coran’s voice comes through, uncharacteristically soft, and Keith can’t see him but he imagines his hand resting comfortingly on Lance’s shoulder where he’s tagging along in the Red Lion. “If anyone can do it, it’s you four.”

“Yeah,” Lance says, then firmer, “Yeah. But there’s six of us, Coran. You and Shiro are part of this.”

Keith looks up at Shiro and grins. Shiro grins back.

“Alright Paladins,” Shiro says. “Let’s get inside that nebula and find Allura.”

“Yeah!”

“Let’s do it!”

Keith’s mouth sets into a determined line. “Right. Paladins, on me!”

The Lions converge around Black, Lance and Coran in Red to his right, Pidge to his left with Hunk just behind in Yellow. He feels Allura’s absence like a wound, the Blue Lion trailing after them without its pilot, but he doesn’t feel crippled. He feels sure, determined. They’re going to get her back.

“Stay tight,” he says. “Those hostiles are going to come after us as soon as they see us heading for the nebula. We can’t form Voltron with only four Paladins, so we’ll have to use the element of surprise. We’re going to blast our way through to the nebula before they know what hit them.”

“You got it, Team Leader,” Lance says. “Quick and dirty!”

Then the shooting starts.

“Evasive action!” Shiro barks and the other Lions peel off from their formation, whirling to dodge the beams of laser fire. “Use your jaw blades!”

The four jaw blades glitter to life in the jaws of each of the Lions, and the four of them slice through the converging enemy ships, explosions rocking their wake. It’s almost as if the Lions breathe fire, ships bursting into flame behind the path their blades leave as they spin off, darting through them too quickly to follow. Keith feels his heart pounding in his chest, an echoing throb in his palms where they clutch tight around his controls, the exhilaration of battle with the thrill of flight, of being back with his team, in his Lion, with Shiro at his side.

And then they’re through, the enemy ships still sparking and burning in their wake. The nebula looms in front of them, swirling blue and pink and glittering with space dust.

“Back in formation!” Keith yells. “This is it!”

He feels more than sees the other Paladins line up around him. He throws himself forward into the controls, feels Black leap forward with a roar as they meet the edge of the nebula. White light flashes in his eyes and he squeezes them shut against the glare, spots pricking on the back of his eyelids. He throws up a hand to shield his face as his vision blanks out, swallowed up by white. A sound that is not so much a sound as an absence of it roars in his ears until he can’t hear anything, not his team, not the hum of the Lion or rumble of her engines.

When he opens his eyes, Black is motionless, the other Lions standing still around them as if on solid ground. Instead of the clouds of dust and gas he would expect of a nebula, it’s nothing, just a shining, flat plane of white. 

The wolf nudges his nose under Keith’s hand and he gives the wolf an absent pat. He groans, blinking the spots from his eyes. “Shiro?”

“I’m here.”

Shiro comes up behind him, leaning forward over the back of Keith’s chair to peer out the viewscreen.

“Where are we?”

“Inside the nebula, I guess?” Keith replies, though he’s not really sure they _are_ inside the nebula. It looks like no nebula he’s ever seen. He pushes against the controls, testing, but the Lion doesn’t move or respond when he tries to take off. There’s a soft, reassuring growl in the back of his mind, the Lion reassuring him she’s still there despite her lack of response. “Sound off, team.”

They chorus back in response and he sighs minutely. “Good. We all made it through. Anyone else’s Lion grounded?”

“Red’s stuck!”

“Green, too. What’s wrong, girl?”

“Yellow won’t move either!”

“Right,” Keith sighs. “There must be a reason. Pidge, can you tell me what I’m seeing here?”

There’s a pause, broken only by the rapid beeping of her fingers on the Green Lion’s screens as she scans, then a low grumble of her frustration. “No.”

“No?”

“No! This shouldn’t be here. Nebulas are made of gas and dust and forming stars, not _whatever this is_.” She growls. “Fucking _magic_.”

From his place behind Keith, Shiro chokes on his surprised laughter. “ _Pidge_.”

“I can tell you that whatever is out there, it has an atmosphere. We should be able to breathe normally.”

“Well team,” Keith says, looking over his shoulder at Shiro. “Guess we better go out there and check it out.” 

“That’s your big plan?” Lance’s voice is incredulous. “Just ‘go out there and check it out’?”

Keith glares at his console, hoping Lance can feel it. “The Lions don’t want to fly and our scans are useless. You got a better idea?”

He can hear Lance grumbling unintelligibly over the comms, but he sees Red duck her head and then Lance steps out, his Bayard gun up and at the ready as he scans their surroundings. Coran follows in his odd, old-fashioned Altean space-suit. Keith, Shiro, and the wolf disembark from Black’s mouth, Shiro with his Altean hand at the ready, Keith with his mother’s blade at his hip and his Bayard sword in his hand, and the wolf with his nose in the air, sniffing.

“Guys, where’s Blue?” Lance asks slowly, his eyes wide as he stares around the circled Lions.

There are only four Lions, seated in a semi-circle as though arranged that way, and the Blue Lion is gone, its absence conspicuous. The Paladins and Coran exchange uneasy glances.

Pidge finishes scanning with her gauntlet computer, then reaches to remove her helmet. The others follow suit, though Hunk waits (“to make sure none of you passed out first”) before removing his. Around them, the still white surface stretches out like shining glass in every direction, disappearing into the horizon. There’s nothing: no landmarks, no structures either natural or manmade, nothing but the Lions where they stand like sentinels to even mark their position. 

Keith stares around uneasily, exchanging a look with Shiro, knowing by the way Shiro curls his hands into fists that he’s thinking the same thing as Keith—this is too easy.

“Well. Let’s go see what else is in here. Stay close and stay sharp,” Keith says. He lets the blade of the Bayard sheath itself, his hand tightening around the grip as he starts forward.

Their feet fall with hollow echoes on the ground beneath them, the sound like the tap of knuckles against glass. Only the wolf moves near silently, padding along at Keith’s side with just the slight click of his nails marking his passage. The one benefit, Keith thinks, is that they’ll hear and see anything coming their way as easily as they’ll be seen and heard, on this barren stretch of nothingness.

He turns to survey the other Paladins and finds Lance squinting at him suspiciously. Alarmed, Keith whips his head to look behind himself before turning to glare back at Lance. “What are you staring at?”

“I just…” Lance steps up close to him, far closer than Keith is comfortable with, his eyes narrowing as he stares with burning intensity at Keith’s neck. “Oh my god.”

“What the hell, Lance!” Keith says, leaning away from him and swatting him away. “Back off!”

“Oh my god. I can’t believe it!” Lance points an accusatory finger between him and Shiro. “You guys fucked last night! I can’t believe while we were hiding from Galra ships, supposedly trying to figure out how we were going to get in here, you guys were getting busy.” He shakes his head with mock disapproval.

“I—what?” Keith feels his face flame and he scowls. “What are you talking about?”

Lance exchanges an incredulous look with Hunk, who is suppressing truly gleeful giggles behind one broad palm. “Dude. Your neck is _covered_ in hickeys.”

Keith slaps a hand to his neck, feeling his face heat even more. “ _What_.”

Hunk recovers enough to clap a consoling hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Sorry to say, but you look like you got in a bad way with an angry space octopus.” He pauses, considering, then shudders visibly. “That’s kind of an awful thought. Forget I said it. Anyway, they’re all over. Didn’t you look in the mirror before you left your room?”

“I was a little _busy_.” 

Shiro coughs, and when Keith turns to glare at him, his face is bright red behind his fist, but he still somehow manages to look smug.

“Shut up, you,” he grumbles, fighting the heat that rises up inside his belly, a heat that has nothing to do with his flush. Now that he’s looking for it, he sees the dark bruise peeking out of the neck of Shiro’s Atlas suit, knows there must be more trailing down the soft flesh of Shiro’s throat to his collarbone. He feels a thrill of possessiveness, knowing that the marks of Shiro’s mouth are on him too, that everyone can see that they belong to each other.

Shiro just smiles wider, like he knows where Keith’s train of thought is headed, and gives a guileless shrug.

“Dude, Shiro, you’re not much better.” Lance shakes his head mournfully. “I used to think you were so cool.”

“Can we focus, please?” Keith grumbles.

“Yes, can we stop talking about Shiro and Keith’s sex life?” Pidge graces them with a quick grin over her shoulder. “Though I’m glad you guys finally got your shit together. If we had to watch you guys pine over each other any longer I think all of us were going to lose our minds.”

“We weren’t that bad, were we?” Shiro asks.

“Definitely not,” Keith says, at the same time that Pidge, Hunk, Lance, and even Coran pipe up with a rousing chorus of _yes_ es. He glances despairingly at Shiro who shrugs, smiling helplessly.

“We’re happy for you guys,” Lance says, uncharacteristically solemn. 

“Thanks, I think,” Keith grumbles. “Now can we please focus?”

“What’s there to focus on?” Lance throws up a hand, gesturing wilding around them. “This place is empty.” His voice echoes eerily, though there’s nothing for it to echo from. He swallows uneasily, lowering his hand slowly to his side, his Bayard gun appearing in his hand. “Right, okay. Focusing.”

They walk on, and Keith notices that the air around them is seeming to thicken, tendrils of white mist curling around them, brushing against their armor like fingers seeking entrance. He swipes his free hand through it, watching it coil slowly around his spread fingers, twisting like oil.

“What’s going on?” Hunk asks uneasily. “Where did this mist come from?”

“No idea,” Keith says. At his side, the wolf whines softly. “Stay alert. Keep moving.”

The mist grows thicker and thicker around them, until all Keith can see is the glow from Shiro’s shoulder port to his right, and then until even that is obscured by the mist. He holds up a hand in front of his face; he can barely see his own fingers through the thick fog. He realizes, dread filling up his chest like water, that the sound of footsteps around him has faded away, and he can’t hear anything aside from his own footsteps, his own breath.

“Guys?” he calls. “Paladins, do you read?” Then, suddenly, his chest tightening as panic roils up in his chest. “Shiro? _Shiro_!”

There’s no answer. He starts running—to where, he can’t say—his feet driven by the pounding of his heart and the silence in his ears. His feet fall with hollow echoes on the ground beneath him, the mist around him swirling in his wake. “Shiro! Paladins! Anyone, do you read me?”

He scans the area around him with his gauntlet computer, watching the scroll of information it gathers. He can’t pick up any life signs beside his own, no structures or energy signals either. His skin tingles with awareness, a humming sense of something he can’t name. This place reminds him of something, the vast stretch of nothingness accompanied by the distinct sensation that he is not alone, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Okay,” he says aloud, raising his voice. “Whoever, or whatever you are, if this is some kind of test, I can play your game. Come get me.”

There—something, at the corner of his eye. He whips his head around, and standing before him is a dark, towering figure, formless in the swirling mist. He’s reminded of the slender, deadly form of the combat drones aboard the castle ship, and of the eyeless mask of the Druids. 

His Bayard flares to life in his hand, his fingers gripping the handle so tightly he can feel his knuckles crack with the strain. He sinks into a low crouch. “What do you want? Where are my friends?”

There’s no answer, not in words, anyway. But the creature advances, leaping towards him through the fog, and he barely manages to sidestep its strike, knocking aside the weapon with the blade of his Bayard. The shadowy weapon screams against his blade, the sound of metal screeching against metal, and he feels the blow in his arm, up to his shoulder. Whatever this is, it’s very, very real.

The unnatural fog clears around them, brushed away by the sweep of the creature’s arm, the movement of their bodies as Keith twists in counter to the creature’s strike. It surrounds them like a cage, closing them in tight and close. The creature moves fast, leaning out of the radius of his Bayard with a boneless, inhuman grace. The responding blow it lands against the small of his back forces the breath from his lungs, and would have sent him sprawling, but for his Blade training. He uses the momentum to turn it into a roll, springing back to his feet and ducking the formless limb that strikes out where his head was only a moment before.

It’s fast, faster than anything he’s fought in many deca-phoebs. The eyeless face follows his every movement, seeming to anticipate him before he even decides to move. Their blades clash again and again, and Keith manages to catch the creature with a sharp blow from his elbow as he spins around and over a furious strike of the shadow blade.

He snarls, his teeth feeling long and sharp in his mouth—and as he watches, the creature gains form. A Druid stalks toward him and he leaps out of the way of the flash of lightning it lashes from its fingertips. When he rights himself, it’s Zarkon advancing on him and he launches himself in a flurry of Bayard blade and feet and fists. The shade of Zarkon catches each and every blow, unnatural speed thwarting Keith’s attacks. It’s Sendak, it’s Ranveig’s monster, and then—suddenly, with a shock that drives the air from Keith’s lungs and sends him careening back through his memory to the crumbling platform of the clone station, it’s _Shiro_.

He feels the blood drain from his face, every muscle locking up in his body. It’s not the Shiro of now; his hair is still dark aside from the sweep of white at his crown, his brows dark and drawn close in a fearsome, dead-eyed grin. The creature with Shiro’s face presses its advantage, driving him back and back and back. 

 

“You’re not Shiro!” he snarls. His Shiro is warm and fierce, noble and protective. His Shiro never gives up on his friends. His Shiro loves him.

The tide turns. Keith feels his nails lengthened to claws, the points digging into the flesh of his palms as he strikes out with his fist, with his Bayard sword. His gaze is sharper, his movements faster and more furious and he drives the creature back, and when they lock Blades together, it’s Honerva that he drives to the ground.

“You can’t win,” he says, through sharp, gritted teeth. “We won’t give up. And I’m not leaving here without my friends!” All of them, he thinks, including Allura.

The snarl building in his throat grows to a scream and he drives his weight forward into the Bayard. There’s a flash of white light, a soundless roar in his ears and the creature is gone, leaving only the gently curling mist in its wake.

He straightens, panting, his hands still tight around the hilt of the Bayard sword, lowering the blade slowly. “Okay,” he says, forcing his heart to slow, calming the prickling of his nerves until his Galra half returns to its slumber. “Okay.”

He closes his eyes, forcing himself still despite the powerful need to react, to _fight_. “Patience yields focus,” he whispers, mist curling on his breath as the words leave his mouth. He wishes Shiro were here to say it instead, wills himself to hear it in Shiro’s voice. He quiets his mind, his breath, reaching out in all directions. His heart is too loud; he pushes the sound away.

 _See through the Lion’s eyes_.

The rush of sound in his ears is a roar, the flash behind his closed eyelids is the flare of light from his Lion’s eyes. He’d thought after so many deca-phoebs, that connecting with Black would be difficult, but he remembers, and the connection slots back into place like a puzzle piece he’d been missing. His eyes are closed but he sees, and he’s not alone.

Through the flash of quintessence light, he sees his friends, each of them fighting their own demons. Hunk has his Bayard gun braced against his hip, brows tight and fierce as he fires against an attacking Galra. Pidge is lashing out against a bounty hunter with her whip-cord. Coran battles Zarkon, Lance faces off against Honerva, and in his hand, his Bayard has taken the shape of a long graceful broadsword as he yells and attacks. 

And Shiro—Shiro is fighting himself.

Black snarls in Keith’s head as that image fills his mind and Keith feels his own lips draw back in response. Each of his friends stutters, feeling the Lion’s presence and his as they reach out. Echoing roars sound as one by one Red, Green, and Yellow flare to life in their minds like a spark, and then, distantly—something bright and pink and beautiful bursts into being just as Blue joins in the din.

“Allura,” Keith whispers, reverent, and then, “Paladins! Allura is waiting. Let’s finish this!” 

The roar of the Lions is deafening in their own minds, each of his friends raising their voices in a triumphant yell to join the din. One by one their eyes flash, their attacks gaining in ferocity and determination until their foes are driven back, to their knees before disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

They breathe together, glancing around themselves as the mist dissipates. Keith sees with a start his friends standing around him, chests heaving with exertion. The wolf gives a yelp and ports himself to Keith’s side, and Keith reaches out to pat him reassuringly. His eye goes automatically to Shiro, who look weary but determined, and he gives a soft smile when Keith slots himself under his arm, curling an arm around his waist to steady him.

“Gross,” Pidge says matter-of-factly, but she smiles as she trots over. 

“Shut up,” Keith says, too busy studying Shiro’s face. “You okay?”

Shiro’s mouth quirks, and his eyes warm beneath the exhaustion. “I’m okay,” he assures Keith swaying to knock his side against Keith’s. “I can handle myself, you know.” He chuckles, waggling his eyebrows. “Get it?”

“Oh my god,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

“Wow guys,” Lance says sarcastically. “I was wrong before; you’re super subtle.” He rakes a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

“Holy crap—Lance! Your face!” Hunk is openly gaping.

Lance claps a hand to his cheek, his eyes widening in alarm. “What? What’s wrong with my face? Am I horribly disfigured? Dude, you can’t just—”

“Your marks!” Coran interrupts, pointing. “They’re glowing!”

“What?”

“Like Lotor’s did, when we approached Oriande!”

“And like they did when you first got them.” Shiro closes a fist over his shoulder, steadying. “When we lost Allura.”

Lance swallows, reaching a shaking hand to graze his own cheek where the marks are glowing with a blue light. “Does it mean—Allura…?” He turns to Coran.

Coran shakes his head. “I’m sorry Lance, I don’t know.”

“Well it’s as good a clue as any,” Shiro says firmly. “She must be close. Come to think of it, this all looks… strangely familiar.”

Lance nods, flicking a glance up at Shiro. “Like the dreams.”

Shiro nods, then turns to look out into the distance. “I feel… there’s something over there. That way.” He turns back to meet Keith’s gaze, his steel grey eyes hard with determination. “We need to go that way.”

“Alright,” Keith says. “Lance and Shiro, you lead the way, since you seem to know where you’re going. Hunk and I will bring up the rear. Pidge, keep scanning. I don’t want to be ambushed again if we can help it.”

There’s a rumble beneath their feet, the ground seeming to roil with it, though when Keith looks down, there’s still that smooth, glassy surface lying undisturbed. He can feel it in his bones, lancing up his legs and rattling against his armor, like an earthquake.

“What is that?” Hunk asks, his voice ratcheting up in panic. “Did everyone else feel that?”

“It’s—nothing?” Pidge taps hurriedly at her wrist computer. “No seismic waves, no life forms—” She frowns.

“There!” Shiro takes a step back, bracing himself. He points in the direction they had been walking and Keith hurries to his side, the wolf following to plant himself at their backs.

In the distance, there’s a light, a faint pinkish glow. The light reflects off the shining ground, scattering rays of light in many different directions. Beside it, like a silent sentinel, the Blue Lion stands guard. Keith feels more than sees Lance step up beside him, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees the marks on Lance’s cheeks flash once, bright.

“That’s it. That’s the thing I’ve been seeing.”

Keith looks at him sharply. “In the dreams?”

Lance nods, his eyes shining with sudden tears, and it’s Shiro that answers.

“Yes. That’s it. It’s Allura. It has to be.”

Keith’s hand tightens on his blade, the other hovering near his hip. He feels for his Bayard, reaching out with his mind, and feels it hum back in response, ready. “Okay. Let’s go get her back.”

Pidge has her wrist computer up and she’s tapping furiously on it, eyes flicking rapidly over the holographic display. “It looks like a forming star,” she says, awestruck.

Lance frowns at her. “What?”

“It’s what you’d expect to find inside a nebula—if this were a real nebula, and not a _magical_ one.” She spits the word like it’s a curse. “The gas and dust of a nebula eventually become so large they start to collapse in on themselves, and the heat generated by the collapse forms the core of a star.” She frowns. “This looks like that—it’s giving off the same readings, but without the size and the collapse.”

“Is it Allura?”

She shrugs, frustration on her face. “There’s no way for me to tell… but this place, this star, or whatever it is. It shouldn’t exist. Not like this.”

Keith looks up at the star, at the Blue Lion where it sits, waiting. He takes a step forward, hand tightening around the hilt of his blade. “Well that’s good enough for me.”

He feels it first, a slight rumble beneath his feet like the concussion of a distant explosion, and then he hears it, a low growl that expands to fill his ears with a deafening roar. Wind picks up from nowhere around them, whipping the stray strands of his hair around his face until they sting. There’s a flash of light and then, there between them and the forming star, stands the glowing form of a massive white lion, maned in white light with glowing blue eyes.

“Holy shit!”

“What _is_ that?”

“It’s the White Lion,” Shiro says, his voice cracked and full of awe, “the Guardian of Oriande.”

“But we saw Honerva destroy it!” Keith summons his Bayard, brandishing it in front of him, raising his voice to be heard over the gale. “How is it here?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well do we have to fight it to get to Allura? Like those other things?” Lance raises his Bayard, but Shiro raises his hand to still him.

“Wait,” he says, and he takes a slow step forward, his eyes never leaving the Lion, which bares its teeth at him, a low growl rippling through the air towards them. “I don’t think we need to fight.” He takes another step forward, and still he doesn’t move to protect himself.

“Shiro, wait!” Keith’s hand snaps out, his fingers curling around Shiro’s wrist. “What are you doing? We don’t know what kind of power that thing has, what it wants!”

Shiro turns to face him and Keith bristles with fear as he turns his back to the White Lion. He places both his hands on Keith’s shoulders, then bends to press their foreheads together.

“Trust me,” he says softly. His human hand moves stroking a thumb against the taut line of Keith’s neck. “I don’t think it will hurt me. Trust me, Keith.”

And Keith has never been good at letting down his guard, but trusting Shiro? That’s easy. He nods once, his head jerking with the motion against Shiro’s, and Shiro smiles before he turns back to face the Lion.

“We are the Paladins of Voltron,” Shiro says, and he stretches out his Altean arm. It throbs with an unnatural blue light, and Keith thinks he can hear the hum of it as Shiro steps away from him, reaching out towards the Lion. His body screams with the need to follow Shiro, but Shiro had asked him to trust, and he will. He forces himself to stay where he is, his Bayard hanging at his side, and he watches.

“We come seeking our friend, the Princess Allura of Altea, and of Oriande.” His voice cracks. “She gave her life to prevent the destruction of all realities; a debt we can never repay. But we’re here to bring her back, to save her, if we can, because she saved all of us.” 

Shiro stretches his tech hand, reaching up, and the Lion lowers its head, stepping towards him. Its eyes bore into Shiro's, and Keith thinks he sees Shiro’s eyes flash with the same blue light. His arm glows, brighter and brighter and the Lion opens its mouth in a fearsome roar that shakes the ground and burns with pain in Keith’s ears. He hears Pidge’s shrill scream, sees Lance and Hunk and Coran clap their hands over their ears, but Shiro doesn’t flinch, just closes his eyes and steps forward. The light flares even brighter, and Keith’s vision whites out, and his eyes slam shut of their own accord.

When he forces them open, Shiro is on fire.

His feet have left the ground, blue flame licking over his body as he rises into the air before the White Lion. His eyes are still closed, his head tipped back even as he’s swallowed up by light.

“Shiro!” Keith throws himself forward, his free hand unsheathing the Marmora knife. 

He’s stopped short when Hunk catches him around the waist, dragging him back from the flame. “Keith, no! You’ll burn up!”

Keith feels his eyes change, squinting against the flare of light in his sharper Galra eyes, and the roar that tears from his mouth through pointed Galra teeth is anything but human. He breaks free of Hunk’s hold, throwing his friend off of him, but by then he’s too late—both Shiro and the Lion are gone.

“Shiro!” Keith throws himself forward towards the star, casting his gaze frantically all around. “Bring him back, you son of a bitch! SHIRO!” He screams until he thinks his throat bleeds, a sword in each hand and hands screaming with the strain of his fingers curled around their grips, but there is nothing to fight. He falls to his knees and lets out a cry of anguish so raw he thinks he can feel it splitting him down to his core.

There are tears in his eyes, on his face. He shuts his eyes against them, adrenaline and fear and terrible, awful grief racing through him. They came here to find Allura, and now Shiro is gone too. He promised Shiro that he would save him as many times as it took, but he’s helpless against the Guardian, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“Keith. _Keith_.”

Distantly, he hears the other Paladins gasp, but he doesn’t look up until he feels the touch on his face, a soft graze of fingertips brushing away tears. He startles, looking up, and Shiro is there once more, gazing down at him with such softness that it threatens to rend Keith in two all over again. He’s glowing but not burning, the outline of him pulsing with white light, and there’s that same blue-white light burning in his eyes that pours from his prosthetic arm and the socket of his shoulder and the eyes of the Guardian.

“Shiro?” He reaches his own hand up, clinging to Shiro’s wrist. “I thought—”

“I know. But it’s okay now.” He smiles, soft and warm, despite the cold light pulsing in his eyes. “I’ll never leave you.”

Shiro pulls Keith to his feet and he squeezes Keith’s hand hard before letting go. “The White Lion wasn’t destroyed by Honerva, only banished to this place. It kept Allura safe when she and Honerva sacrificed themselves. It protected her.”

“How do you know all this?” Lance asks, and there is terrible, burning hope in his blue eyes.

“The Lion told me,” Shiro says simply.

“Do you know how to get her back?”

Shiro smiles, softly, and reaches out for Lance. He guides Lance to the forming star, his Altean hand pressing gently between Lance’s shoulder blades. “She’s here,” Shiro says. “She’s always been with you.”

Lance swallows, and he nods once, then again. Slowly, he reaches his hands up towards the star.

“Wait!” Pidge yells. “If it is a star and not just magic, you’ll die! The energy inside is too much for human touch. It’ll kill you!”

“I have to, Pidge,” Lance says, and his voice when he speaks is low, calm and sure. “This is it. I know it.”

And he stretches his hands out the rest of the way, closing the gap to place his palms against the surface of the star.

Shiro’s eyes glow brighter and brighter, the light of the White Lion streaming out of him, into his Altean hand. Keith remembers the Altean crystal inside it, given to Shiro by Allura herself. As he watches, the glowing marks on Lance’s face begin to bleed away, stripping themselves from the neat crescents under his skin. They race over his face, the trail of light running down his neck to his shoulders, his arms, his hands and out through his fingers. When they touch the star, it flashes with a blue light, dazzling and effervescent, and when their gaze clears, the star is gone.

And there is Allura.

She looks just as she did the last time they saw her, when she had bid them all goodbye. Coran makes a sound beside Hunk, a choked, anguished sob, and Lance cries out as he lunges forward to catch her wavering form in his arms.

“Where… where am I?” she asks, her voice slow as though waking from a long sleep.

Lance sobs, his voice breaking as he bends his head to meet hers. “You’re safe, my Princess. You’re home.”

She smiles up at him and reaches to cup his face with one small hand. Her thumb skates wonderingly over his cheek, brushing away his tears. Beside them, Coran falls to his knees, wrapping her other hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips to kiss it.

Allura’s eyes fill with tears, her voice wavering with emotion as she says, “You found me.”

Keith feels his eyes sting with tears once more. Pidge and Hunk are holding each other up, Hunk openly weeping and Pidge snatching off her glasses to hastily swipe away her tears. Shiro steps up beside him, his eyes already trained on Keith when Keith turns to meet his gaze, and his smile is impossibly soft and warm as he slides their hands together. His eyes have returned to normal, no longer that white blue of the White Lion’s light, but that warm, soft grey that Keith loves so much.

Keith smiles through his tears and holds on tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CRIES BECAUSE ALLURA ;;;;;;;;;;;
> 
>  ~~Hopefully the last and final chapter of this fic won't be too far behind. I'm hoping I can post it next Thursday April 18th.~~ LOL I'm the worst. I swear chapter 7 is coming, and I haven't abandoned this fic! Thank you so much again for your patience and for reading and sticking with me on this journey. I'm on twitter [@maccachino](http://twitter.com/maccachino) if you want to come say hi and listen to me complain about editing and cry about sheith!!!!!


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